


On the Subject of Robotic Babies

by Maid0fBlood



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Friends to Lovers, I know it's a high school au but like, M/M, So yeah, Trauma, also there's gonna be mention of domestic violence, and dirk's just, basically i just needed this au, because like, bro is a person that exists, but it's okay now!, domestic abuse, hahaha, he is depressed, help him, hurt-comfort, i guess?, i just really love the awkward not-parents vibe, it is in the past and everyone is a-ok now except for the lasting psychological damage, karkat's gonna mom friend them both so hard though don't you worry, yeah dave's gonna be a crying mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-10 14:08:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8920144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maid0fBlood/pseuds/Maid0fBlood
Summary: "I'm going to assign partners for this project. That way there will be no bickering about who gets paired with who. All of the couples will be one man and one woman, except for one, which we will model as a single dad and his friend." For some reason, Dave half hoped, half knew that he would end up as the "single dad and friend" group.





	1. Single Dad and Friend

****Dave was quite furious. It didn’t show outwardly -- in fact, nothing at all showed outwardly except his inexhaustible stores of disinterest -- but fury’s icy grip had clenched itself so tightly around his heart that he was scared it would burst all over his insides in a blinding flash of ice and rage so powerful that people would tell the story of the man whose heart exploded into icy shards of wrath for generations to come.

Or something.

Across the table sat Karkat Vantas -- Karkat _fucking_ Vantas -- in a state of unbridled distress. He had double facepalmed a few minutes ago and had been attempting to peel the skin off of his face as his hands dragged slowly down his cheeks since then. The distant, gratingly horrible shrieking coming from the next room had only increased in pitch since he had panicked and thrown the godawful thing under a blanket. It looked like the only common interest between the two of them was the burning desire to take a sledgehammer to that screaming _thing_ in the living room.

Karkat finally lost it. “ _When_ exactly is your brother supposed to come home?” His voice had so much hostility in it, Dave could practically see it dripping onto the floor.

“Just wait a minute, he’ll be here any second.”

“I don’t think I can _last_ another second.” Dave sighed and ignored him, electing to stand up and grab another apple juice from the fridge. The slowly growing pile on the floor by his chair said that this would be his eleventh in the past hour.

“You know your teeth will rot out of your head if you drink too much of that stuff. It’s disgusting, really.”

“Dude don’t diss the sweet nectar of the gods. This is apple juice we’re talking about. It’s so good even the _Bible_ thinks so, and the Bible doesn’t think _anything_ is good.”

“You do realize that the story actually says that apples brought sin into the world, right?”

“Exactly. That right there’s gotta be the perfect fruit.” If Karkat had had a third arm, he would have triple facepalmed.

From across the house, and through the screeching of the demon spawn that had taken residence between where they sat in the kitchen and the main entrance, Dave heard the latch on the front door click open.

“HOLY FUCKING JESUS, DAVE, WHAT DID YOU DO?” There was a loud _thud_ followed by panicked footsteps before Dave’s brother entered the kitchen, both hands covering his ears and an exaggerated wince distorting his face. “And what’s with shortstack here?” Karkat bristled with anger, but before he could say anything, Dave cut him off.

“I’ll explain later, just take that _thing_ into your room and make it stop screeching.” Dirk stared daggers into Dave’s soul, to which Dave reacted by shoving him into the living room.

“You owe me _bigtime_ for this one, Dave.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Karkat let out an audible sigh of relief as the shrieking quieted and a door shut. The sound was immediately followed by a painfully loud _thunk_ as Karkat’s head hit the table.

“I need an aspirin. Or six.”

“Okay, but you have to take it with apple juice.”

“Fuck you.”

 

**~~~ Hours in the Past (But Not Many) ~~~**

 

_Are you fucking kidding me._

It appeared that he was not, in fact, fucking kidding him. His health teacher had just finished explaining their new assignment, and Dave was less than pleased. _I can’t believe this shit actually happens in real school jfc._

“I’m going to assign partners for this project. That way there will be no bickering about who gets paired with who.” The class groaned in unison. “All of the couples will be one man and one woman, except for one, which we will model as a single dad and his friend.” The blatant homophobia in the statement made Dave physically cringe. Luckily, nobody could see his face behind his obnoxiously large shades.

“Everyone write your name on one of these slips of paper.” He gave the head of each row of desks a disjointed mess of tiny paper rectangles to pass back. “I’ll put all of the girls’ names in one of these containers and all of the boys’ names in the other one. Whichever two boys are left after I’ve picked everybody else will be the single dad and his friend.” After a moment of disgruntled whispering and reluctant scrawling, the teacher made his rounds and picked up all of the slips. Sorting them was a simple matter, and then came the moment of truth. _I hope I get partnered with somebody that’s competent. This shit’s gonna be terrible otherwise. Gonna be more fucked up than a superhero origin story._

Time passed, and Dave’s name didn’t get called. As each couple was announced, they were allowed to come to the front of the room, acquire the needed equipment for the project, and leave class for the day. That was at least one nice thing about having health class at the end of the day. It got out early a lot, so Dave could laugh at all of the unlucky fuckers that still had class while he waltzed out a solid fifteen minutes early.

The room was getting dangerously barren. Dave evaluated the situation. It looked like there were five guys and three girls. He didn’t know any of the girls’ names; girls weren’t really something that interested him, despite the stereotype of raging hormones addicting young teens to the opposite sex. He knew a couple of the guys’ names, though. The tall lanky one in the corner was named...Jace? Jeff? Some one syllable name that started with a ‘J’.

Okay, maybe he didn’t know the guys very well either. Except...

_Oh fuck…_

He did know THAT guy. Sitting in the back of the room was none other than Karkat Vantas -- Karkat _fucking_ Vantas -- with his arms crossed and his usual demeanor of unadulterated rage permeating the area around him.

The kid in the corner got called. Apparently his name was John. He got paired with some girl named Roxy who couldn’t stop giggling. Dave rolled his eyes and did his best to ignore them.

It was the final countdown now. There were only three boys and one girl left. For some reason, Dave half hoped, half knew that he would end up as the “single dad and friend” group. The question was, which of the two remaining guys would be his totally platonic absolutely no homo how dare you even say the word homosexual in a _school_ of all places “friend” and who would end up paired in a School Approved Heterosexual Relationship (SAHR®). The teacher reached into the girls’ bin to fish out the final name in a completely unnecessary moment of blind routine.

_The moment of truth…_

Dave could feel his palms start to sweat as the final boy’s slip was picked. He held his breath.

“Nick, looks like it’s you.” _Sweet! Time to make some old people super fucking uncomfortable._

The teacher clapped, seemingly satisfied. “Alright, that leaves Dave and Karkat to model the single dad and his friend.” _Does he have to say it like that every....single……_

_…….what?_

  
  


**~~~ Minutes in the Future (But Not Many) ~~~**

 

Dave thought he might die. Apparently there is a limit to how much apple juice you can drink before you literally die from an unexpected rush of apple corruption coursing through your dirty, blemished sin vessel.

Karkat had decided the floor was much more comfortable than the table and had melted into a puddle of indignation a few minutes after Dirk had come and taken the _thing_ away. Dave was seriously considering joining him on the floor so that he could die in peace.

A door down the hall opened. Dave turned slowly to look. His stomach sloshed uncomfortably. _Yuck…_

Dirk was making his way down the hall. The _monstrosity_ that he had been working on was tied up in a cloth bag which Dirk was holding onto with the tips of his thumb and index finger. He dropped the bag as unceremoniously as he could without breaking it on the table without breaking eye contact with Dave; an impressive feat, considering they were both still wearing their ever-present sunglasses.

“If you _ever_ bring that thing into my house again, I swear to god Dave…”

“You don’t believe in god, Dirk.” He paused, and Dirk slumped exhaustedly into a chair. Both of them ignored the Vantas Puddle™ that was attempting to melt a hole in the floor with sheer anger.

“Seriously, how did you manage to dislocate the wiring for the voicebox. That thing is built like a lead weight.”

Dave shrugged noncommittally. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it was broken when we got it.”

The Vantas Puddle™ temporarily regained sentience for just long enough to shout, “AND I WOULDN’T BE SURPRISED IF YOU DID IT ON PURPOSE WITH THE SOLE INTENT OF TORTURING THE LIVING FUCK OUT OF ME FOR NO GODDAMN REASON.”

Dave picked his ear. “Do you hear somebody talking?”

“AUUUGHHHHHH,” Karkat groaned at the top of his lungs and conducted one final double facepalm combo before returning once more to his liquid state.

“Real charmer, that one,” Dirk commented dryly.

Dave shrugged again. Dirk stood and walked slowly towards the fridge. “My back hurts. It doesn’t do me any favours, bent over that work table, you know.”

“You would have been bent over it anyway, don’t give me that shit.”

“Do you want something to eat? We have leftover pizza.”

“You said that like it was a question.” Dave looked briefly at the acidic puddle eating its way through the linoleum. “If I could be graced with the attention of the acid on the floor for a moment, my dearest brother would love to know if you want anything to eat.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth!” Dave waved dismissively at Dirk as he shoved a couple pieces of haphazardly placed pizza in the oven.

Karkat’s gaze put the phrase ‘staring daggers’ to shame. “I _think_ I’ll be _just fine_ on my own.” He slowly extracted himself from the ever growing hole that his aura had created in the poor tiles and brushed the dust off of his pants. “In _fact_ , I’m going to go _home_ , I’m going to take a _shower_ , and I’m going to try to wipe all traces of that _thing_ from my permanently-traumatized brain.”

“Woah woah woah, we haven’t decided whose turn it is to keep track of it,” Dave protested. Karkat had already walked away into the living room. He picked up his backpack and jacket in one graceful swoop and started for the door. He had to kind of sashay through the various bags that Dirk had dropped there in his initial panic.

“Since _you’re_ the one that _fucking broke it_ , I issue an _ultimatum_ that you take that _thing_ tonight or I will fail our project so hard you’ll be doing summer makeup work for this class until your eyes bleed.” That image did not sit well with Dave, whose nose wrinkled in a half grimace.

“Okay, fine, whatever. It’s fine.” Karkat’s hand reached for the doorknob. There was a tense silence for a moment before Dave continued. “Looks like I’m the dad and you’re the friend, then.”

Karkat’s entire body went rigid, and Dave actually flinched, taking a hesitant step backwards. Even Dirk stopped what he was doing in a kind of half terror. Dave thought he had seen anger, but nothing had ever compared to this. If emotion was visible, a dark black cloud would be consuming every trace of light in their living room. It was insidious; if was infectious; it was paralyzing.

When Karkat spoke, his voice was cold and monotone, contrasting sharply with his usual volatile yelling. “I never want to hear that sentence or anything similar escape your lips ever again. Do you understand me?” There was a deadly calm in his tone that made Dave shiver.

“Uh...yeah. Sure.” The time between his words and the door slamming seemed to be cut out of existence, the gap sewn haphazardly together with no segue. Dave and Dirk stood in complete shock for a moment before Dirk turned.

“...what the fuck was all that about?”


	2. Straws

****It was still sitting in its cloth cocoon on the table when they got up the next morning. Dirk’s nose wrinkled in disgust.

“So...we just have to deal with this?”

“Pretty much.”

“Do we have to like...feed it?”

“I don’t fuckin know man, you think I was paying attention in class? I just went with the fuckin flow and hoped I’d end up in the Single Dad and Friend group.”

“The...what?”

Dave sighed. “There were too many guys and not enough girls in the class, so everyone was divided into guys and girls except for one group which was designated the Single Dad and Friend group. That’s me.”

“Yikes…”

Their attention shifted to the bag again. Dirk adjusted himself in his chair. “Do you remember anything at all about how you’re supposed to take care of this thing?”

“I dunno I think it was mostly like remembering to check on it? Like I think it’s only supposed to scream if we leave it alone for too long. Not sure on the details though, maybe Karkat knows.”

Dirk exhaled exasperatedly. “You really gonna make me do everything myself?”

A quick google search later, Dirk and Dave had found the exact brand and a rough guide to how to care for it. “So...I just have to fake feed it and whack it on the back sometimes and occasionally take its clothes on and off?”

“I...guess?”

Feeling a little more confident in what he was doing, Dave cautiously opened the drawstring on the bag. Dirk stood just behind him, unconsciously fretting about the robot that lay inside.

Somehow, it didn’t look as traumatizing now as it had yesterday. It was just like those weird baby dolls that used to be all over tv when he was a kid. Except...less creepy. “At least this one doesn’t actually take a shit like that one fuckin doll. Do you remember that shit?”

Dirk laughed. “Stuff was fuckin weird, man. Shit be makin you feed it that weird ass liquid and have an actual diaper to catch its literal piss. Never understood what the appeal was there.”

“Gotta embed the gender roles early on, man. How else are girls supposed to know that their single purpose in life is to raise a kid?”

“For real though.” The unexpectedly loud rap music from Dirk’s phone startled them both as it demanded his attention. “Shit...I’m gonna be late for class if I don’t leave now.”

Dave groaned. “Remind me again why you have class on Saturday?”

“It’s the only time when everyone can meet. I’ll only be gone a couple hours. What do you want me to bring back?”

Hmmmmm. “Maybe Chinese.”

Dirk bowed dramatically. “As you wish, my liege.”

Dave had to resist the urge to smack him upside the head. “Weren’t you saying something about being late?” Dirk rolled his eyes, picked up his bag, and headed out the door. Dave called after him one last time. “Did you get all of your like wrenches and wiring shit or whatever?” Dirk waved dismissively over his shoulder, then the door shut and Dave was alone.

Well. Not really alone.

The baby, it seemed, had woken up from whatever stasis it had been in before. Maybe a sleep cycle. It had now decided the thing to do was whine incessantly and move its tiny robot hands futilely through the air.

_Shit where’d I put the fuckin thing._

After a moment of searching blindly under the couch in the main room to retrieve the bottle, Dave awkwardly shoved it against the robobaby’s mouth.

_How does it continue to cry if I’m fucking feeding it its mouth is literally occupied doing other things it’s physically impossible to eat food and cry at the same time seriously kid._

Eventually the offending noise quieted, and the robobaby seemed content to simply lie on the table and make occasional weird cooing noises. Wary of potential unexpected screaming, Dave backed away to get some cereal, never once breaking eye contact.

One disappointingly soggy bowl of Apple Jacks later, it seemed like it had fallen into another sleep cycle. Dave breathed a sigh of relief. _Fuckin Christ, who the fuck has time to raise one of these things. For that matter, who the fuck has time to raise the real deal. Shit man, I can’t even take care of myself, who decided I was ready to handle a robobaby from hell._

Whatever. It was a Saturday, and if anybody thought Dave wasn’t going to drown himself in shitty video games, they were very incorrect. Dave rinsed the dead milk into the sink, then wandered into the living room to pick a game. He didn’t feel like playing Minecraft because as much fun as it was to build enormous dicks and piss off the other players, it did get boring after a while. Dave needed a game with endurance potential. No way was he getting up for the next few

_Fuck, the baby_

He had almost convinced himself that the baby didn’t need to be taken care of, but Karkat’s words from the day before haunted him. “... _you’ll be doing summer makeup work for this class until your eyes bleed.”_

Yeah. He’d pass.

Careful not to touch the baby itself, Dave grabbed the cloth bag by the metaphoric scruff of the neck and brought it out to the living room, holding it as far away from himself as humanly possible. _Yuck...this thing isn’t even real and I already want to attach it to a 10 foot pole and fucking javelin it off the nearest cliff. Shit’d probably make the most satisfying crunch as it hit the ground and broke into a million metal pieces. Dirk’d probably lose his mind though…_

After indecisively flipping through all of his video games about five times, Dave gave up, instead laying on the couch as sprawled out as he possibly could be, lazily scrolling through his blog on his phone. It had the same effortless quality that it always did. Effortless because he did nothing to maintain it, and quality because it had gone to shit on so many levels, but it had gone crashing down into the shit sea like Jack and Rose clinging desperately to the driftwood with such ironic finesse that it almost brought a tear to his eye just thinking about it.

A few hours rolled by painfully. He got up once to take a piss and once to grab a slice of cold pizza and an apple juice, and besides that he did his very best to Become One with the couch. The baby only got upset once, and all he had to do was awkwardly poke at its back until it stopped. _I guess that’s what burping the baby is supposed to be. Seriously, why the fuck would you burp a baby? That shit is fucking disgusting. You’re gonna get puked on so fast man your aesthetic would be completely shattered for the rest of your life and you’d go down in history among your friends as that one friend that got puked on by his own fucking hellspawn._

Dave had just finished contorting himself so that his upper body fell off the arm of the couch, his hair just barely brushing the carpet as his arms flopped next to him, phone forgotten and bored as hell, when there was a very loud trio of knocks against the door.

_Jesus Christ, Dirk, no need to break the door in half just because you forgot your keys again. Shit man, it’s gonna cave in one day, and you’re the one that’s gonna have to pay for getting it fixed._

With quite a bit of effort and squirming, Dave managed to flip spectacularly onto the floor, just clipping the top of his head on the side of the couch a little bit. He was a little dizzy when he stood, and he was sure his hair was a mess, but at least his shades hadn’t gotten too wonky in the process. The knocks repeated as he crossed the living room to the door, somehow even louder than before. “Chill out man, I’m coming. Gotta learn yourself some patience.” He swung open the door lazily, fully prepared to give his older brother a half-hearted, ironic scolding.

Or at least, he would have been if it had been his brother.

Standing on his doorstep, irritable as always, was Karkat Vantas -- Karkat _fucking_ Vantas. He glared through Dave for a few seconds before his iconic scratchy voice uttered a single word.

“Well?”

Dave blinked. “Oh...hi, Karkat.” There were another few seconds of silent. Dave coughed. Karkat’s look of disapproval evolved to one of disgust. “Did you...uh...forget something here yesterday?”

“Did you forget that you’re supposed to let somebody into your house when they come over? Jesus, who taught you manners? Did you even _learn_ manners? Or did you just cultivate your douchebag levels instead? That _would_ explain a lot.” Karkat brushed past him and into the living room, leaving Dave staring, confused, out the open door.

_Ouch…_

Karkat had made his way grumpily into the kitchen and sunk sulkily into the chair he had occupied yesterday. Dave took a moment to evaluate the situation. What exactly are you supposed to do when a perpetually angry kid you barely know shows up at your house?

_This is gonna be awkward…_

Dave followed him into the kitchen. Karkat glared at him. Dave cleared his throat. “Do you want something to eat?”

“Do you have two eyes and a clock on the microwave? It’s fucking five o’clock, of course I want something to eat.” Dave put his hands up defensively.

“Hey, just a question. Leftover pizza fine?”

“Yeah, whatever.” Dave frowned at the response, but shoved a piece of pizza in the oven anyway. The awkward silence recommenced with a vengeance. Dave sat on one end of the table, and Karkat on the other. Karkat seemed content to be angry. Dave adjusted his glasses. Karkat sighed. Dave fixed the hem of his shirt. Karkat shifted in his seat. Dave glanced at the clock on the oven. Another three minutes.

_Peachy…_

Dave was just about to attempt a conversation starter when Karkat unexpectedly spoke. And by spoke, Dave meant yelled. “Look, I’m sorry, okay?”

Dave raised an eyebrow. “For...what exactly?”

Karkat crossed his arms. “You know. Freaking out yesterday. I shouldn’t have yelled like that. And I shouldn’t have...I didn’t leave the way I intended to leave.” Some of the biting rage in his face had disappeared and been replaced by something else, something Dave couldn’t quite put his finger on, but that seemed to be as close to apologetic as Karkat could get.

A cold chill ran up Dave’s back as he remembered Karkat’s dramatic exit. He dispelled the feeling by running his fingers through his hair, which he remembered all of a sudden was a fucking rat’s nest. _Shit_.

“Hey man, no big deal. We all got shit goin on, it’s all good.” Karkat’s shoulders relaxed at his words. _Wow...he was actually nervous?_

“Yeah, well don’t get on a high horse about it. I was just having a bad day. And don’t expect me to be all sappy with you now.”

“Hey, I’m not getting on anything except taking this pizza out of the oven.” He pulled out a paper plate, plopped the grease-covered pizza on it, and slid it across the table to Karkat. “What was that about, anyway, if you don’t mind me asking?”

The tenseness immediately returned to Karkat’s shoulders. Dave backed off. “Or not, it’s whatever, you don’t have to tell me. Just…” he took a breath, “you should tell me if things that I say bother you so I won’t say them in the future, you know?”

Karkat looked quizzically at him between bites. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter.” He shoved as much pizza into his face as he could, probably needing an excuse to think for a minute before his thoughts came spilling out of his mouth like the projectile vomit from The Exorcist.

_Charming, Dave…_

Karkat swallowed. “I just...hate the way our fuckwad of a teacher set up our group to be.”

Dave laughed. “You mean the obvious ‘no homo’? Yeah that pissed me off too. You want something to drink?” Dave stood up.

“Is it going to be apple juice if I say yes?”

“Not necessarily.”

“Then yes.”

“Is pepsi cool?”

Karkat sighed. “Of course you’d have the shitty offbrand.” Karkat reached for it expectantly. Dave tossed it at him with one hand, shutting the fridge with the other. A small squeak escaped Karkat’s throat as he caught it. “What the fuck Dave?! You can’t just throw a soda at somebody!”

“You can in Strider territory. Better get used to it if this is gonna be baby central.” Karkat cringed, tapped on the side of the can, and opened it. Surprisingly enough, it didn’t explode. He took a grateful sip, then paused.

“Did you mean what you said? That it pissed you off too?”

Dave’s brow furrowed. “Uh...yeah? It was like. Blatantly homophobic? You think I was just gonna be chill with that? What kind of person do you think I am?”

“Well I don’t know! I don’t know a single thing _about_ you except that you sit in the back of class with those douchey fucking sunglasses and play the superiority game.”

Dave opened his mouth to defend himself, but thought better of it. “That’s...not an incorrect observation.”

“So you aren’t homophobic then.” Karkat inflected it as a statement, but Dave could tell he was pretty nervous about asking.

“Are you kidding me? My brother is about as straight as those fucking curly straws from first grade. You remember that shit? I was all about those, collected them and then showed ‘em off like the fucking asshole I was.”

The front door opened in the middle of Dave’s sentence. “Who’s being a fucking asshole?”

“First grade me with the fuckin curly straws. You remember that shit?”

“Fuck yeah dude, those were the shit. Why are you talking about straws? _Who_ are you talking about straws _with_?”

“Karkat. We were talking about how gay you are.”

“The gayest motherfucker on this fuckin planet. Anyone who says otherwise has to fight me, one on one rainbow combat. Bring it on motherfucker.” His voice got quieter and quieter as he disappeared down the hall and into his room.

Dave turned back to Karkat. “See? Nothin to be afraid of. In the Strider household, we live and breathe gay.”

“We?”

“Fuck yeah man, if you were lookin for straight dudes you came to the wrong fuckin house.”

Karkat seemed kind of hesitant, but his filter was somewhat lacking and his vocal chords forged on without his rational consent. “What kind of straw are you, then?”

“The kind with the accordion shit at the top that lets you straighten it out or bend it all outta shape as you please.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Is the big confession coming next or are you all done for now?”

Karkat’s face turned bright red. “What?!”

“You said it’s a relief that I’m bi, what am I supposed to think?”

Karkat’s voice raised in volume as his exasperation skyrocketed. “I’m _relieved_ because there’s fucktons of biphobia even in the gay community so knowing that you’re neither biphobic nor homophobic is a fuckin relief, okay? Not _everybody_ wants to fuck you, get your head out of your own ass.”

“So what kind of straw are you, then?”

“None of your damn business.”

Dave shrugged. “Whatever. Have me lay my sexuality on the table and be cagey about yours. That’s fine.” Karkat opened his mouth to argue, clearly incensed, and Dave waved a hand at him. “I’m _kidding_ , jeez. Not everybody’s comfortable talking, I get it. You do you. Doesn’t matter to me one way or the other.”

“I am officially changing the subject. The subject has now been changed, and any more awkward sexuality questions will have to be reserved for a later fucking date.”

“Alright, alright. You done with that?” Dave gestured to the now-empty paper plate. Karkat nodded and handed it across the table to Dave, who proceeded to dramatically slam dunk it into the trash can. Karkat rolled his eyes in disgust. They landed on the clock.

It was just past 6:30. “Shit...I have to get home like 5 minutes ago. Where’s the baby?”

“In the living room, why?”

“Oh, I don’t know, I was just gonna beat its head in with my foot and then set it on fire. We’re supposed to take turns, aren’t we? You had it last night, now it’s my turn. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not a fucking asshole. Now hand it over.”

“With pleasure...this thing is a fucking nightmare.”

“Joy....”

Dave handed him the baby and its various accoutrements. Karkat stared at the quickly growing pile in his arms. He looked horrified. “You think you can carry all that?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” He started for the door.

“Oh hey, wait! Give me your number.”

“Now who’s desperate, hmm Dave?”

“Up the shut fuck, Karkat, I’m trying to make it easier to communicate about the project, not get my dick up your ass.”

“Ew...can you maybe not?”

“Digits, Karkat.” Dave had his phone in hand, ready to go. Karkat sighed, and recited his number. Dave saved the info, and sent an experimental text. “Alright, text me when you get back so that I know I typed it in right.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He opened the door. “I’ll bring it back sometime tomorrow.” Without another word, the door shut behind him.

_You know...this might not be so bad after all._


	3. Chinese Food and Tsundere Assholes

Dirk hadn’t remembered to get takeout on his way home, so they ended up having to call it in and go to retrieve it. Unfortunately, that meant Dave was being forced to come with. Something about how it would be too many bags for Dirk to carry all on his own. Dave had put up a fight, but in the end, here he was, clammering into the passenger seat in a haze of disgruntlement.

This would be the first time Dave had been in a car with Dirk in several weeks. Dave did his best to avoid situations where Dirk would be driving. It wasn’t that Dirk _couldn’t_ drive, it was just…

“Hey, how fast do you think we can go without getting the cops called on us?” _Oh boy...here we go…_

Dirk’s car was not a nice car. It was, in fact, a certified Legendary Piece Of Shit™. The brakes only worked half the time, both side mirrors were broken, the rearview mirror hung limply from the ceiling, and it made a variety of unhealthy sounding noises every time Dirk tried to do anything at all with it. It was a true miracle that it hadn’t been pulled over in the eight months that Dirk had owned it. Hopefully, tonight would not break the pattern.

The car was not happy that it was being started. It made that horrible grinding sound that indicates that the car will not, under any circumstances, start. “Come on, don’t give me that,” Dirk said quietly. He turned the key again. More grinding. He sighed. “Third time’s the charm.” Sure enough, the third time he turned the key, the car sputtered begrudgingly to life. It wasn’t happy about it, but it was alive nonetheless.

“Alright, here we go. Brace yourself.” Dave remembered an instant before the car started moving that the latch for the seat belt was broken as shit. _Fuck…_

As terrible as his car was, there was one thing that it was able to do without any problems, which was the very reason that Dirk had bought it in the first place. It may have been cheap as shit, but its acceleration was perfectly intact. Which was, of course, the worst possible combination of features to have in a car owned by Dirk Strider.

With no more than a cursory glance behind, Dirk floored the accelerator, and the car shot backwards out of their driveway at about sixty-five miles per hour. Dave lurched forward, managing to just barely catch himself on the dashboard in time to avoid smashing his face against the windshield. Dirk slammed on the brake immediately afterward, which, for once, worked immediately. Dave was flung unceremoniously back upright, his head hitting the headrest hard enough to make him flinch. He attempted to scowl at his brother before the car lurched back into motion, but it was to no avail. _Okay, I guess death is just. Coming for me. That’s cool._

As it turned out, Dirk was able to screech and rattle his way back and forth across the city at an average of sixty-five miles per hour, with a top speed of ninety-five on a particularly deserted straightaway. Dave had essentially become a buffer for the bag of food, which he was hugging for dear life, instead of a passenger. Dirk was screaming like a madman, and Dave was screaming like a five year old, and by the time they got back to their driveway, both were out of breath and coming down from adrenaline rushes.

“Dirk.”

Dirk’s head lolled to the side. “What.”

“Why are you like this.”

“Oh, get outta the car already. You’re alive, aren’t you?” With a bit of effort, Dave calmed his shaking hands enough to open the latch for the door. “You didn’t let the food get bumped around, did you?”

“Yup, I’m fine. Your concern for me is overwhelming. Really. Thanks for asking.”

“Aw, Dave, don’t be such a party pooper. Did we die?”

“No, but–” Dave sputtered.

Dirk came around to where Dave was standing and put a hand on his shoulder. “Did we die?”

Dave shrugged his brother’s hand off of his shoulder. “Fine, whatever, let’s just get inside. I’m starving, and that food is gonna get cold if we sit around out here bitching.” He walked to the door, which he opened with a dramatic flourish and a bow upon reaching it. “Your Highness,” Dave said mockingly.

“ _I_ was not the one that was bitching.” Dirk sighed. “Unappreciated in my time, I tell you what.”

“Truly a tragedy, my lord.”

“Shut the fuck up, Dave.”

 

After all the trouble they’d gone to in order to retrieve it, the food was rather underwhelming.

“God, this tastes like shit. What the fuck did you order?”

Dirk stared at his plate, nose wrinkled a bit. “I just got the usual stuff, same as always. Orange, General Tso’s, Sweet and Sour, Lo Mein…”

“Well note to fucking self, that place is not the place to go in the future. I mean, I’m gonna eat it, but I’m gonna be bitter about it.”

“Same.” The conversation died for a bit as they went about the grueling task of consuming the supposed Chinese food before them.

Dirk broke the silence a few minutes later. “So what was Karkat doing here?”

Dave paused eating, fork hanging lazily in the air. “Surprisingly enough, he came to apologize for yesterday.”

“Surprisingly?”

“Yeah, he’s not exactly the apologetic type. I had him pegged as an unbridled asshole with no filter and no sympathy, but he actually seems like kind of a nice guy.”

“Well that’s good. It wouldn’t be very fun to raise a kid with your Totally Platonic Friend if he was an asshole.” He paused for a moment. “What was the deal with his freakout anyway? Was he in a bad mood or...?”

“Oh, he just misunderstood when we were making fun of the Single Dad and Friend thing. He thought we were being homophobic.” Dirk kinda stared uncomprehendingly at Dave for a few seconds before bursting into uncontrollable laughter. Dave smiled as his brother convulsed on the table, weakened from giggling. “Yeah, that was my reaction too.”

“Shit man, I haven’t laughed like that in _ages_.” He wiped a tear from his cheek. “Glad you got things sorted out.”

“I dunno, I felt kinda bad about it. He seemed really nervous about it all. I’m picking up the vibe that he’s super gay but not comfortable with it yet. Poor kid probably thinks he’s hiding it...and something tells me he’s this close to a complete nervous breakdown about it.”

“Maybe you should talk to him about it?”

Dave shrugged. “He seems like the kind of person that requires Friend Level 2 or 3 before divulging that kind of thing, but I’ll give it a shot.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Dirk pushed back from the table and stood up slowly, stretching and yawning as he did so. “I’m tired,” he complained. He glanced at the clock across the room.

“What time is it?” Dave asked, realizing that he felt pretty sleepy too.

“Nine.”

“Jeez, really? Why am I so tired...ugh.” Dirk shrugged. With a bit of effort, Dave stood up. It only took a few minutes to precariously balance the plates and silverware in the sink -- which was already full to the brim with dirty dishes -- and tetris the remaining leftovers into the fridge (in the Strider household, ‘tetris’ had become a verb at this point). After a long, shared glance at the clock and an air of overall embarrassment, both Striders sighed and made their way to their respective bedrooms.

Dave practically fell against his door as he shut it. _Jesus fucking hell I’m such a weak bitch._ He didn’t really have the energy to do much -- most of his surplus energy had been drained during the Car Ride -- so he pulled his phone out of his pocket, plugged it in, and collapsed across his bed in his signature sprawl. He opened his phone, but there was nothing to do. He stared at the home screen, vision slightly blurring the disorganized jumble of apps, trying to think of what to do. He certainly wasn’t going to sleep this early, after all. He started scrolling absently across the screens of apps, until his eyes landed on his messenger.

 _Oh hey, Karkat never texted me back. Well...that’s something to do, I guess._ He flicked the app open, selected their one-message conversation, and tried to construct the snarkiest thing he could think of.

 

 **You:** hey thanks for texting me when you got home, i really appreciate it

 

It took about fifteen minutes, but a response did finally come.

 

 **Unknown Number:** I DIDN’T THINK YOU WERE SERIOUS

 

_Oh yeah...gotta set a name for him._

 

 **You:** you thought i just said that for shits and giggles? come on man have some faith

 **Unknown Number:** WHY DO YOU FEEL THE NEED TO MAKE SURE YOU GOT THE RIGHT NUMBER ANYWAY

 **Unknown Number:** I’M SURE YOU’RE CAPABLE OF TYPING IN 10 DIGITS CORRECTLY

 **You:** tbh i mostly wanted to make sure you got home alright

 **You:** whats with the caps lock

 **Unknown Number:** WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU CARE ABOUT THAT

 **You:** because im not an asshole?

 **Unknown Number:** YEAH WHATEVER

 **Unknown Number:** THE CAPS LOCK BUTTON ON MY PHONE IS BROKEN BECAUSE IT’S A STUPID PIECE OF SHIT AND I CAN’T TURN IT OFF

 **Unknown Number:** AND FOR YOUR INFORMATION, I DON’T NEED A PRETENTIOUS ASSHOLE TO READ ME A BEDTIME STORY AND TUCK ME IN AT NIGHT. I MANAGE JUST FINE ON MY OWN

 **You:** yo chill dude it’s dangerous walking home at night im literally just trying to look out for you

 **Unknown Number:** AND WHY, PRAY TELL, DO YOU GIVE A FUCK ABOUT ME

 **Unknown Number** : OH, HERE COMES PRINCE CHARMING, WHITE KNIGHT OF THE FUCKING YEAR, WHO WOULD DO ANYTHING TO MAKE PEOPLE BELIEVE THAT HE’S A TRULY NOBLE AND GOOD PERSON

 **Unknown Number** : WE’VE KNOWN EACH OTHER FOR LESS THAN 24 HOURS DAVE. STOP TRYING TO ACT LIKE YOU’RE SUCH A FUCKING GENTLEMAN

 **You:** im not trying to “act like a gentleman” im trying to be a concerned human being

 **You:** its not rocket science my dude i dont care if ive known you for one second if i have your number and consider you a friend im gonna wanna know if you made it home

 **Unknown Number:** WE AREN’T FRIENDS

 **Unknown Number:** WE’RE PARTNERS WORKING ON A PROJECT

 **Unknown Number:** THAT’S IT

 

Dave frowned. _Why’s he being so weird and cagey?_

 

 **You:** hey dude are you okay

 **You:** you seem like more angry than normal

 **You:** did something happen on the way home

 **Unknown Number:** I’M FINE DAVE

 **You:** or like when you got home

 **Unknown Number:** I’M GOING TO SLEEP

 **You:** already?

 **Unknown Number:** I DON’T LIKE BEING CONDESCENDED TO BY INSENSITIVE DICKS WHO DON’T KNOW WHAT THEY’RE TALKING ABOUT

 **You:** hey woah did i fuck up again man im sorry

 **Unknown Number:** SLEEPING, DAVE

 **You:** you gotta tell me this shit so i dont do it again karkat

 **Unknown Number:** GOOD NIGHT

 **You:** Night…

 

Dave frowned at his phone. _What did I do?_ He went through the motions of plugging his phone in and setting his alarm, but he couldn’t dispel the malaise of concern that hung around him. _I wonder what’s up with him...I’m gonna have to be a lot more careful in what I say when he’s around. Seems like he’s got a lot going on._

He burrowed his way under the covers and shut his eyes, but his brain was buzzing. He couldn’t get his mind off what Karkat said. _Was I really coming off as condescending? And what was with all the tsundere “don’t talk to me” bullshit?_ The more he thought about it, the more it bothered him.

He checked his phone. It was now 11 o’clock. _Yikes, the time went by fast._ He had a vaguely formulated idea that he should text Karkat one more time before going to sleep, but…

_I don’t want to make him even more mad at me than he already is...hmmm…_

At 11:15, Dave put his phone down on his bedside table and rolled over. _I shouldn’t bother him. I’m sure he’s fine._

At 11:30, Dave rolled back over and grabbed his phone. _Just a short message couldn’t hurt, right?_

 

 **You:** hey so im not exactly the best at apologizing since my primary word usage is exclusively for ironic purposes designed to piss off as many assholes as humanly possible but im sensing with what little of me is not inherent douchebag that i said something i shouldnt have and i want you to know that if you just tell me what i can and cant say im not so much of a dick that i wouldn’t listen so just let me know i guess

 

_God I sound like such a moron._

Unfortunately, Dave was far too tired to try and fix it. The message bubble rose onto the display, and Dave turned off the screen, rolled over once again, and forced himself to fall asleep before he could think about how embarrassed he was that he just sent a text as stupidly saccharine as that.


	4. The True Kitchen Nightmare

 There was something about Sunday mornings that just made Dave want to die. The impending return of the school week. The expectation that his and his brother’s asses would be at church worshiping the gay away. The old guy across the street standing motionless in the same spot on his lawn watering the same square foot of grass for upwards of two hours. It made Dave want to lay in bed and groan for eternity.

Unfortunately, that kind of behavior was not usually deemed as socially acceptable. Not even by Dirk.

“Dave if you don’t get your skinny ass out of bed I’m not going to make you breakfast. You’ll have to settle for stale Apple Jacks again, and as appealing as that sounds it’s probably going to kill you someday.”

Dave’s groaning got louder as he forced himself out of bed and made his way begrudgingly to the kitchen.

“Holy fuck Dave, your hair is a mess.”

“It’s the new look, haven’t you heard? Bed head is in, get with the motherfucking times. Honestly it’s embarrassing how behind you are.” Dirk laughed, but it was the kind of laugh that’s really just a sharp exhalation through the nose. “Aw come on, it was funnier than _that_ , wasn’t it?”

“You want one egg or two?”

“What kind of bitch has one egg for breakfast, jesus fucking christ Dirk why would you even suggest that as an option.” Dirk pointed a mock-angry spatula at Dave’s face.

“Shut the fuck up, it was a legitimate question.”

“I’m sure. Now move, I have to get to the fridge. I need my apple juice fix. Who knows what kind of havoc I would wreak without it. It’s the only thing keeping my fragile psyche in check. Even now I can feel it...slipping away...”

“Only if you get me a mountain dew.”

“What, are you trying to kill me? Child labor’s illegal, you know.”

“You better hurry up, your eggs are gonna burn. Grab me a plate after you’re done, would you?”

Dave squeezed past Dirk to get to the fridge, somehow managing to open it enough to maneuver a single arm inside and grab an apple juice between his thumb and pointer finger and a mountain dew between the other three and his palm. He slowly coaxed his hand back out, then swung it around to where Dirk could see.

“You see this? This is what is you call ‘fucking pro’. That’s the technical terminology. May sound a bit colloquial but hey, I don’t make the rules.”

“Oh, no, the eggs, they’re burning, quick, call the fire department, we have a serious emergency,” Dirk replied in complete monotone.

“Can you chill for like one fucking second, jesus.” Dave grabbed two plates, looked at the monstrous pile of dishes that still had not been dealt with, and put them back, opting instead for paper plates. He set them next to the stove so that Dirk could awkwardly shovel the eggs from pan to plate.

“Dude, you gotta do something about the dishes,” Dave said as he grabbed his breakfast and maneuvered past Dirk to just barely slide onto his chair.

“What do you mean _I_ gotta do something? It’s _your_ turn.” Dirk took the other plate and joined Dave at the table.

“You’re so full of shit! I distinctly remember doing the dishes last time because of that congealed fucking milk in that cup at the bottom of the pile. My hands smelled like shit for _days_.”

“No, that was _two_ weeks ago. _Last_ week I had to scrape all of the moldy cheese off of that pizza tray thing.” Dave opened his mouth to respond, then shut it again. There’s no comeback that can invalidate the god’s honest truth. Dirk grinned almost sadistically before inhaling the rest of his eggs. He stood up, stretched, and started towards his room, dropping his paper plate in the garbage as he passed. “Have fun with the dishes, Dave,” he said, his voice dripping with saccharine sarcasm.

“Have fun with your robots, asshole.” The door to Dirk’s room creaked open, then swung decisively shut. Dave could hear him laughing to himself. “Dickbag.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair, putting his feet up on the table and his hands behind his head. He stared up at the ceiling, allowing its blank whiteness to consume his consciousness as he finished the last few bites of eggs.

The obnoxiously loud sound of his text tone made him nearly kickflip ass-backwards onto the ground. As his chair tilted dangerously back, he managed to grab the edge of the table at the last possible second, just barely saving himself from plummeting into the void. After taking a second to finish staring death in the face, another few to remember how to breathe, and a final cluster to narcissistically pat himself on the back for his sick reflexes, he checked his phone. He had a new message from Karkat.

 

 **Unknown Number:** HEY MY HOUSE IS AN ETERNAL QUAGMIRE OF BOREDOM AND FAMILIAL STUPIDITY AND AS MUCH AS I LOATHE EVERY ENCOUNTER WITH YOUR HEINOUS INFERIORITY-FUELED IRONY BULLSHIT, IT’S BETTER THAN HERE

 **You:** if youre trying to ask if you can come over the answer is yes

 **You:** a true striders door never shuts

 **You:** or some shit

 **Unknown Number** : OH MY GOG

 **Unknown Number:** *GOD

 **Unknown Number:** I FEEL LIKE I’M GOING TO REGRET THIS

 

Dave shook his head, a grin plastered across his face, then half-threw his phone back onto the table. His grin quickly faded as he realized what Karkat’s imminent arrival meant for him. “Noooooo that means I have to get up to let him in...ughhhhh” he groaned in soft despair. He stood slowly, feeling the old-man aesthetic as his back and knees complained more than was reasonable for his age. As he walked through the kitchen and into the living room, he raised his voice, cupped his hands around his mouth for added volume, and yelled, “Yo asswipe, Karkat’s headed here to chill for a bit so don’t come out katana in hand ready to fuck a bitch if you hear someone else in the house.”

There was no response from Dirk, but he knew that Dirk had heard him. Or he figured as much, anyway. Having expended as much energy as he was able, he flopped onto the couch like the mannequins from those fucking videos. You know the ones. Going to the store or some shit. _Those videos were fucked up, man. Who took the time out of their day to create those monstrosities? What drove them to it?? Why the fuck would you dedicate a significant portion of your life to creating not just one, but_ **_two fucking mannequin bullshit hell videos_ ** _._

_Why would you bring such pain upon the world. Who did this to you._

Dave’s musings were interrupted by an unnecessarily loud series of knocks on the door. “Chill your fucking horses, I’m coming.” He stood painfully, then overdramatically limped to the door and opened it.

“About fucking time. It’s colder than satan’s ass out there.” Karkat hurried in with a feebly whining bundle that Dave could only guess was the mechanical monster.

“Nice to see you, too.” Dave shut the door, cutting off the frigid fingers of death that encroached from The Outside. “Seriously dude, you’re wearing long sleeves, how bad could it have been? I’m wearing patented Strider Pajamas®, so out of the two of use I’m the one with the right to complain.”

Karkat ignored him. “Do you have anything hot to drink? I can feel the ice growing in my chest cavity, waiting to slice through my lung tissue and laugh as I drown in my own bodily fluids.”

“Dude what the fuck, that’s fucking disgusting.”

“I’m going to gut your kitchen if you don’t tell me where to find things.”

“Go for it, you have just as good a chance of finding it as I do.”

Karkat set down the heinous hellspawn and wandered into the kitchen. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means that I don’t know where anything is in the kitchen?” Dave followed him in, eyeing the back of Karkat’s head incredulously.

“Oh, so your brother does cooking stuff then?”

“I mean yeah, but that doesn’t mean he knows his way around the kitchen either.”

Karkat turned around in slow horror. “You mean you don’t _organize_ your _kitchen_??”

Dave opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Karkat’s eyes fell upon the massive pile of dishes in the sink. He cut Dave off before Dave even had a chance to formulate his sentence. “What. The _fuck._ Is happening in your sink.”

Dave looked away, shrugging in what was outwardly nonchalance and internally a cry for help. _My houseguest is horrified by my kitchen...someone...end my existence…_

“Yeah...I’m supposed to wash dishes this week but I keep putting it off. I’ll get around to it eventually...maybe…”

“Do you have a pair of rubber gloves.” Dave looked back up, face plastered with confusion. Karkat was having a battle wills with the sink, each staring the other down with grim determination. Without moving his gaze, he started rolling up his long sleeves.

“Do I...uh...are you…”

“I would really rather not dive into this with my bare hands but I will if necessary.” Karkat broke his contest with the sink to temporarily stare directly into Dave’s soul, and Dave saw the eternal void in that moment, and it was consumed with rage.

“My...uh...my bro might have some. I’ll go check.” Dave tried to make a smooth exit and failed, tripping over his own feet as he left. He could feel Karkat’s gaze on him as he walked down the hall and knocked on the door. “I’m coming in.”

Dirk was sitting at his desk with an assortment of metals, wires, and tools. He was in the middle of what was probably an extremely important something or other, but Dave honestly had no idea how any of this shit worked and every time Dirk tried to explain Dave’s very existence melted and spread all over the floor like the proverbial spilt milk over which one is forbidden to cry but about which Dave cried anyway, since with every second Dirk led him through the labyrinth of wrenches and welding the puddle spread. Ever present. Ever growing.

Dirk put down his tools irritably. “What.” His aura reeked of disapproval and annoyance.

“Do you have rubber gloves somewhere?”

“Why the fuck do you want rubber gloves.”

“ _I_ don’t want them, _Karkat_ wants them.”

Dirk paused. “What kind of kinky shit are you two up to because it’s chill as long as you’re not too loud. Don’t want to be disturbed in the middle of fine tuning something.”

“Dirk what the fuck we’re not doing anything jesus. Karkat wants to...uh...he…”

“You’re not making your case better, Dave.”

“He...wants to clean the kitchen.”

Dirk’s eyes went blank as his mind tried to process the sentence that had just left Dave’s mouth. “He wants to...do what to the kitchen?”

“Clean it. He wants to clean it. And organize it, I think.”

Dirk’s eyebrows knit together in utter confusion. “Uh...o...okay? Let me think.”

“DAVE I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DON’T COME BACK HERE WITH GLOVES IN 30 SECONDS I’M COMING DOWN THERE MYSELF AND RIPPING THEM FROM YOUR BROTHER’S COLD DEAD FINGERS.”

“Jesus H Christ that kid is not fucking around…” Dirk paused and looked around. “There might be a spare pair in that drawer over there. I was using rubber work gloves for some tinkering earlier this week so they might still be in there.”

“15 SECONDS DAVE.”

Lo and behold, the fabled Gloves of Rubber lay in the drawer like a gift from above. “Hold your fuckin horses Karkat, jesus.” Dave half-jogged back down the hall to the kitchen and handed the prized possession over. Karkat turned without another word, pulled on the gloves, and dove headfirst into the monster pile of mold and rot. Dave looked on in half disgust, half terror. “You...uh...you have fun with that.”

“Sponge.”

“What?”

“Get me a sponge.”

“Uh...hold on let me find one.” Dave located one after digging through a few drawers and handed it to Karkat.

“Dish soap.”

“There isn’t any there?”

“No, it seems as though you people live like animals, festering in your own filth without a single hope of salvation.”

“Wow...that’s harsh.” Dave found and delivered soap.

“Vinegar.”

“Uh...hold on.”

The next couple hours quickly devolved into Kitchen Surgery, where Karkat played the part of the maddeningly talented surgeon and Dave played the part of the incompetent nurse stumbling over his own shoelaces as he tried to figure out what name went with what tool and where to find it. After quite a bit of grumbling on Karkat’s end and a few rather unpleasant discoveries, all of the dishes were either soaking to get rid of extra-defiant chunks of food or laid out to dry. Karkat took off the gloves and laid them carefully next to the sink. Dave sank into his chair at the table, thankful that the grueling task was finally over.

“Okay, so what’s next?” Dave looked up at Karkat in pure terror.

“What’s _next?_ What do you _mean_ what’s _next?”_ Dave simply could not wrap his head around the concept of doing more work at this point.

“Dave, I want you to take a look around this kitchen and tell me that it looks remotely clean or realistically useable.”

“I mean...it’s not like it matters if it’s useable, we usually just have takeout anyway so we don’t really need much counter space or anything.”

Karkat had all but short-circuited. “Oh my god...is that why you gave me pizza on a paper fucking plate when I was here before? Because you didn’t have any real food??”

“Hey, don’t go disrespecting pizza, it’s got like vegetables and shit on it. That’s like way better than it could be.”

“Oh my god...okay, that’s it, I’m making you dinner.” Dave tried to protest, but Karkat held up a finger of silence and continued. “Here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna go through _every goddamn drawer and cupboard_ in this kitchen and pull _everything you own_ out and put it on the counter. Then you’re gonna help me sort it all. _Then_ you’re gonna help me put everything away in a neat and organized manner. _Then_ , and _only then_ , will I make dinner.” Dave attempted once again to make contact, and Karkat reemphasized his demand of silence. “If you try to say I don’t need to make dinner, I will smack you. You _need_ to eat _real food_ or your body will just fucking die. It’ll deteriorate like a rotted log being slowly consumed by the fungus it once trusted to process food for its roots. You’ll become nothing but a hollow shell, devoid of all of the nutrients that you’re supposed to be intaking daily. Everyday life will become unbearable, you’ll feel drained, and all in all you won’t be a happy fucking camper off at summer camp for the first time and full of ecstasy for the coming vacation that will inevitably end up being equal parts underwhelming and disillusioning. Now start pulling things out.”

At this point, Dave was too afraid to argue. He opened the first cupboard and squatted in front of it to see what was inside. It looked to be a terrible amalgamation of tupperwares and pans. “Why do we have a fuckton of tupperwares but no lids. Who designed this.”

“Don’t ask me, this isn’t _my_ dysfunctional kitchen.” Dave sighed and started pulling out the tupperwares, placing them haphazardly onto the counter. Karkat appeared over his shoulder out of nowhere halfway through the task, startling him more than he would have liked to admit. “Oh my _god_ Dave, you have to stack them according to size. Look, see? If you put the big one on the bottom you can nest the other ones inside and save space. Even a toddler could figure that one out, honestly I don’t understand how someone can be so _incompetent_ with these things.”

“Hey, I’m trying my best.” Dave started to rearrange the tupperwares, pulling out the remaining few and adding them to the slightly precarious tower. He had just barely put the final touches on his artistic tupperware masterpiece when a horrendous racket from the living room rudely interrupted the accolades from his great feat. “ _Fucking hell_ ,” Dave groaned exasperatedly.

“It’s your turn.”

“What?! Karkat, you can’t saddle me with that thing! That’s cruel and unusual punishment!”

“Who exactly is the one cleaning your entire fucking kitchen so that you can actually use it as a food-grade eating space? I can’t seem to recall, why don’t you enlighten me?”

Dave shot him the deadliest look he could manage, then shuffled his unwilling way into the living room to confront the bundle of broken dreams. He slowly untied the...blanket?...to reveal the monstrosity and all of its relevant paraphernalia.

“It should be about time to change its clothes. It likes to be changed before meals. Which is fucking stupid, I might add, because then it gets its new clothes completely fucking dirty when it eats. Or at least, it would. If we were feeding it real food, I mean.”

“When did you become such a family man? First you offer to clean my kitchen, then you drop the bomb that you know the Secrets of the Beast? You’re making me feel inadequate.”

“Dave, do you _have_ to be overdramatic all the time? Like, is it possible for you to say a single serious thing or do you have to veil everything behind either irony or sarcasm?”

Dave raised his hands in a gesture of simultaneous defence and admission. “Hey, no need to call me out like that. I’m doing my best.”

“Right...well, your best is shit.”

Dave inhaled in mock offense. “Well that’s just _rude_. Honestly, why do I put up with you? You bring nothing but suffering into my otherwise peaceful life.”

“Just change the fucking baby and get back in here so I can teach you how to run a fucking kitchen.”

“Whatever. My aesthetic is clearly going over your head.” Dave changed the baby’s clothes as quickly as humanly possible, then tucked it away once more into the blanket bundle. It was significantly less compact than when Karkat had done it.

“Did you just actually use the word aesthetic? God, you’re such a grade A douchebag.”

“Thanks, it’s my specialty.” An unexpectedly comfortable silence settled over the kitchen as Dave and Karkat went about the mostly mindless task of emptying the drawers and cupboards, rearranging the contents to match in size and category, and returning them. _He really isn’t so bad. I had him pegged as that kid that’s impossible to please and is perpetually angry, but I think there’s more to him than that. I just wish he’d tell me what._

“Hey, about last night.” Dave jumped at the suddenness of the statement.

“Yeah?”

“I’m bad at apologies too. Just...keep in mind that most of the time if it looks like something you said pissed me off, it’s probably just that I was pissed off before but hadn’t let it surface. So it’s not really your fault that I’m mad. For the most part. Except for when you’re an annoying prick.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” Dave’s voice came out a lot more sincere than he thought it would, which left him both surprised and pleased. He wanted Karkat to know that he did actually care, and brushing Karkat’s awkward apology off with sarcasm would do exactly the opposite. “Just remember to keep me updated on what does or doesn’t upset you, ‘kay?”

“Sure. Okay, feelings jam is now over. As far as I’m concerned, it never happened.”

“Roger that, chief.”

Karkat let out a small disgusted breath, but it seemed a little forced, like the emotion behind it wasn’t as solid as he was trying to let on. “Now that I can actually use the fucking kitchen let’s see what materials you have for me in the fridge. Please at least have _something_.”

Dave trailed behind him as he crossed to where the fridge sat in the corner, and it was with a small but happy shock that he realized he was actually interested in helping.


	5. A Crack in the Facade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> somehow these chapters just keep getting longer...thanks everyone who left kudos and comments on this <3 it really brightened my day

It was with both terror and awe that Dirk slowly entered the kitchen. “Okay so...at what point exactly did I accidentally enter the twilight zone and how do I get back to my own universe please.”

Karkat looked up briefly from the pot on the stove that he was coaxing to a boil. “Perfect, another one.” He reached across the counter to pick up some kind of office tool looking thing, then plopped it decisively into Dirk’s hand. “Here, take that label maker and finish labelling all of the drawers and cupboards.”

“I...what?”

“It’s better for everyone if you just do what he says. Trust me.” Dirk turned to see Dave busily setting the table, complete with glasses, plates, and utensils.

“I didn’t even know we  _ had _ three matching glasses. And is that...what is that in the middle.”

“Apparently it’s so you can put hot stuff on the table without melting shit or something.”

“The technical term is hot pad, for your information,” Karkat butted in, clearly miffed.

Dirk continued to marvel at the kitchen, ignoring Karkat’s attempted abrasiveness. “I didn’t know our counter was white. Huh. The more you know.”

“You didn’t  _ know??? _ What were you  _ thinking _ when you bought the fucking house? You didn’t bother thinking about the place you were going to be fucking  _ eating??? _ ”

Dave and Dirk exchanged a half-uncomfortable look. Dirk’s eyes became distant, withdrawing at the mention of that day, at the  _ memory _ of that day.  _ Shit shit shit...how do I fix this...fuck. _ Luckily, it seemed that the social cue of Dirk’s partial dissociation had been blunt enough that even Karkat noticed. “Hey Dirk, how do you like your noodles? Come test this and see if it’s any good.” Dirk seemed to come back to earth enough to wander to the other side of the room in a thinly-veiled meandering daze. Karkat fished a noodle out of the enormous pot of boiling water in front of him with a server and motioned for Dirk to take it. “Careful, it’s hot.”

The heat of the spaghetti and the brevity of the episode seemed to work together to bring Dirk back to his full awareness. He almost dropped the noodle in surprise, then tilted his head back and lowered it slowly into his mouth. “Motherfucker, you weren’t kidding,” he muttered, grimacing as the noodle burned his tongue.

“Well what were you expecting, it came out of a pot of literally boiling water.” He let Dirk chew, then swallow. “Well? Does it need a few more minutes or is it good?”

“It’s damn good. What the fuck kind of magic did you sell your soul for to make this.”

“W..what?” Karkat could not have been more confused by a question. Dave cut in, saving Karkat the effort of trying to respond to his brother.

“He put fuckin oil and salt in there, and like, this leaf thing. He just like...put an entire leaf into the water.”

“For your information, it’s called a bay leaf. And I didn’t put it in the  _ water _ , stupid, I put it in the sauce. It adds flavor,” Karkat said in a huff.

“Where the fuck did you get a fancy flavor leaf, because I know for a fact that we don’t have that shit.”

“Oh, I just casually pulled it out of my ass. Where do you think? I went to the store, jackass. You know, the place where people  _ normally _ get food.”

Dirk’s eyes widened. “Woah woah woah, wait, are you telling me you two went to the  _ store _ to make this? Like...you expended effort to go  _ outside _ ?? Into the  _ cold _ ??”

“Yeah dude, I thought he was crazy too. For reference, I did not go with him. I stayed here and followed instructions which pretty much consisted of cleaning off the counter and insides of drawers and shit. I did  _ not _ realize how fucking nasty that shit was.”

Dirk turned to Karkat and clapped his hands together as if in prayer. “You are a motherfucking  _ godsend _ .”

Karkat was getting more and more flustered with every passing second, his face reddening like a cherry tomato. Once again, Dave saved the day by butting into the conversation. “Weren’t you saying something about taking the noodles off?”

“Fuck. Yeah, I did. God, you two are so fucking  _ distracting _ . How do you get anything done?” He pondered his question for a moment. “You know what, never mind. I rescind my previous inquiry. I don’t want to fucking know how little gets done in this house.”

He grabbed two oven mitts -- which Dirk stared at in confused awe -- then grabbed both handles of the pot and poured the contents into the sink.

Dirk lost it. “What the FUCK dude??? That was our dinner and you just poured it down the fucking  _ DRAIN?? _ ”

Karkat looked completely scandalized. Dave looked back and forth between the two of them a few times, Dirk’s face plastered with terrified confusion and Karkat’s plastered with confused terror. After a few seconds of trying desperately to contain himself, Dave burst into uncontrollable laughter. Between gasping breaths, he managed to force a single sentence out.

“Fuck-cking christ Di-irk, look in the...fuck...the sink.”

Dirk approached the sink like a frightened animal. Inside was a very nice, very large colander, inside of which the noodles lay steaming. He turned to Karkat again, pointing at the pasta.

“What the fuck is that.”

“That’s a colander.”

“What’s it for?”

“What does it  _ look _ like it’s for, dumbass?”

“Did you buy that, too?”

“Surprisingly, no, that was shoved way in the back of that cupboard there. I don’t think it’s ever once been used. It  _ would _ be kind of hard to use something if you don’t even know what it is.”

Dirk looked at Dave. “You’ve befriended a witch.”

Dave nodded. “I know.”

“Oh my GOD, it’s just FOOD. Jesus fucking a  _ chainsaw _ you two are overdramatic. Now move, I have to put the colander on the table.” He picked up the bowl and sidestepped his way between the two Strider boys.

Dirk turned to whisper to Dave. “Can we keep him?”

“You know, I think that’s looked down upon. Pretty sure there’s a word for that...it’s eluding me at the moment. Something that starts with a ‘k’ and ends with ‘idnapping’.”

Dirk punched his brother’s arm. “Shut the fuck up.”

“The noodles aren’t gonna eat themselves. Quit whispering and serve yourselves, I’m not your mother.” When the two boys didn’t immediately vacate the premises, Karkat reemphasized his point by moving behind the two boys and forcefully pushing them towards the table. “Christ, how did you two manage all these years.”

“With instant ramen and takeout,” Dave answered. Dirk punched him again, harder this time.

“Don’t  _ tell _ him that.”

“At this point, I’m not even fazed.” Karkat bent and opened a drawer under the stove, removing a container with tomato sauce. He brought it to the table and set it next to the bowl of noodles. “There’s serving spoons there for a reason, fuckasses. Eat.”

“Don’t you need to heat up the sauce?” Dirk asked hesitantly.

“Nah man, there’s a magic drawer under the stove. Keeps things nice and toasty.”

“Warming drawer, Dave. It’s called a warming drawer.”

“You’re  _ shitting _ me.”

Dave grinned. “Nope. Dead serious. It like...keeps the heat in or something.”

“You’re shattering my world, Dave. I don’t think I can take much more of this.”

Dave shrugged. “Blame Karkat, this is his fault.”

The conversation was interrupted by an ungodly scream from the other room. “Fucking hell...I’ll deal with the baby, you two start eating.” He disappeared into the other room, and Dave could hear him quietly cursing at the baby in an attempt to intimidate it into silence. It did not work very well.

“Dave, that man is a treasure. A goddamn national treasure.”

“I guess.” Dave reached for the pasta server and awkwardly scooped himself some food.

“You guess??” Dirk stole the server out of Dave’s unsuspecting hand. “He came into our house, cleaned our kitchen, went grocery shopping, made us dinner, and is now taking care of your robot baby. He is a  _ fucking treasure. _ ”

“ _ My _ robot baby?”

“Plural your. Y’all’s robot baby.”

“I never want to hear you say the word y’all’s ever again.”

“Are you two talking about Nick Cage?”

Dave and Dirk made simultaneous, identical faces of disgust. “Why the fuck would we be talking about Nicolas fucking Cage?” Dave asked incredulously.

“I honestly have no idea, and frankly I’m relieved to know that he is not the current topic of conversation.”

“Nah, Dave was just showering you with unrestricted praise,” Dirk teased.

“That’s fucking  _ bullshit _ , you were the one that called him a goddamn national treasure.”

Karkat cleared his throat, and what seemed to be the ghost of an uncomfortable blush touched his cheeks. “ _ Anyway _ , you guys should eat more. My cooking will  _ not _ go to waste if I have anything to say about it.”

“Sir yes sir!” Dave said sarcastically, raising his arm in mock salute. Karkat sat at the table once more, and the three of them continued to chat and eat with relative ease. Dave was astounded.  _ There’s no way this is the same kid I’ve been seeing at school for the past eight years. Where did all of his anger go? I mean sure, he’s still an abrasive dick, but it’s different now. _ Dirk was teasing Karkat again, and Dave couldn’t help but smile a bit seeing Karkat like this. Less closed off than he seemed at school. There’s no way he would let someone in their class tease him like that without getting their ass served to them nine ways to Sunday in a verbal onslaught of truly magnificent proportions. It was a nice change, to see a side of Karkat that wasn’t hidden behind pure rage.

“Dave chill with the bedroom eyes at the dinner table, you’re making it awkward for everyone.” Dave blinked, realizing that he had spaced out while staring intently at Karkat’s face.  _ Fuck… _

“I’ll do what I damn well please, thank you very much, but that’s not what was goin’ on there. I was just spacing out. Only innocent, wholesome thoughts happening in this young mind.” Dave hoped that his blush was only an internal sensation.  _ Why the fuck am I blushing? I’m telling the truth. _

“Whatever you say, Dave.” Dave’s gaze flicked to Karkat once more. Karkat looked absolutely mortified by the exchange that had just taken place in front of him. Before he could say anything, however, there was a very loud crashing noise outside, which was immediately followed by the room being plunged into complete darkness. Karkat let out a small squeak of distress. A tentative “...what the fuck?” came from Dirk’s side of the table.

“Motherfucker,” said Dave.

They waited a few moments in silence for the lights to turn back on. There was no such luck.

“Well...shit…”

“Astounding observation, Dirk, you truly have a way with words.”

Dirk pulled out his phone and shined the light from the screen directly into Dave’s eyes, who flinched reflexively. “Shut the fuck up.”

A moment later, all three kids had turned on their flashlight apps and were systematically checking all of the light switches. Unsurprisingly enough, none of them worked.

“Well this is just peachy fucking keen,” Dave complained dryly.

“Shit...it’s late. I should be home.” Karkat hovered by the door to the living room, staring at his phone indecisively.

“Um...come again? I’m sorry, but there are thirty mile per hour winds happening right now, you are not going out there.” Dirk flashed his weather app at Karkat, proving his point.

“Well how  _ else _ am I gonna get home?”

“I could drive y–”

“No you absolutely cannot under any circumstances drive Karkat home that is final and not up for fucking debate.”

“What’s wrong with his drivi–”

“Just  _ trust  _ me on this one, Karkat. You don’t want to die tonight.”

“O...kay? So what exactly are you suggesting I do?”

“Well, there’s really only one option left. You’ll have to stay the night here.” Dave and Karkat both turned to Dirk in surprise.

“Excuse me?” Karkat asked incredulously.

“No buts. I’m not letting you go out in that weather, and Dave isn’t letting me drive you home. Call whoever you need to and let them know, but this isn’t under discussion or negotiation.”

Karkat shifted a bit. Dave couldn’t read the expression on his face, but it definitely wasn’t indicative of any kind of positive emotion. “I’ll just text them, it’ll be fine,” he said. Something was off, but Dave couldn’t quite place his finger on what.  _ Weird… _

Dirk didn’t seem to notice, since his only response was to shrug. “You can stay on the couch, or on the floor in Dave’s room. I’d offer mine, but it’s kind of covered in pieces of metal.”

“The couch will be fine...you really don’t have to do this, you know.” Karkat’s naturally abrasive tone contrasted sharply with the sincerity of his words.

“Hey, consider it thanks for dinner. And like...gutting our kitchen. Seriously, I still think you’re a goddamn magician for that.”

“It’s really not...whatever.” Dave definitely wasn’t imagining it. Something was bothering Karkat.

“I’ll get blankets and a pillow,” he volunteered. Dirk gave him kind of a weird look, but he ignored it, turning and walking out of the room. He needed a few moments to figure out the best way to help Karkat, and a run to the closet with spare blankets was perfect for a quick think.  _ I definitely can’t just ask him what’s wrong. He’ll shut me out faster than a Minecraft server. But I’m not sure what else to do...maybe just distracting him by chatting will help? _

When Dave came back with the assorted impromptu bed materials, Dirk was already gone. Karkat was standing awkwardly in the center of the living room, alone and clearly unsure of what he was supposed to do.

“Did Dirk leave?” Dave asked, dropping the blankets and pillow onto the couch with a decisive plop.

“Yeah. He said he had to go finish something before going to sleep.” He paused for a moment. “What does your brother even do?”

“He builds robots. For college, or something. Not sure exactly. I always get confused when he tries to explain exactly what it is that he does.”

“Not surprised, considering how much of your brain capacity is taken up by maintaining your stupid fucking aesthetic.”

“Jealous?” Dave smirked. Karkat started to say something, but Dave cut him off. “You can set up the blankets however you want from here. Anything else you need?”

“Nope.”

“Did you remember to text your family?”

“Yeah.” Karkat shifted uncomfortably again. There was an awkward pause.

“Hey, I was thinking since it’s still kinda early and you’re stuck here with nothing to do we could just chat for a bit. You know. Get to know each other or whatever. So that it’s not completely fucking awkward to be working on this project together as a Totally Platonic Couple raising a Demon Baby. Or something.”  _ What the fuck kind of ill-planned bullshit was that??? _

“No, I just wanted to sit here on this couch and slowly gelatinize from thinking too hard about everything I’ve ever done wrong in my life.”

“Cool.” Dave sat on the floor, leaning his back against the couch by Karkat’s feet. A few moments of uncomfortable silence went by.  _ I gotta do something or nothing’s gonna happen. _ “Let’s have a lightning round.” Dave’s speech was a little too fast from nerves.  _ Why am I nervous about this??? _

Karkat scoffed. “A lightning round? What are we, sixth grade girls playing truth or dare?”

“Come on man, let me live. You ask first. Anything you want. First thing that pops into your mind.”

“Okay...what’s your favorite color?”

Dave had to suppress a laugh. “I give you the opportunity to ask any question in the world, and you settle for favorite color?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Red.” Dave paused. “What’s yours?”

“Grey.”

“Your favorite color is...grey?”

“Do you have a problem with that?” Karkat sounded mildly irritated. Or offended, maybe. Dave backed off.

“No, just not a usual favorite color. Your turn.”

“You can’t use my question as your question, that’s bullshit.”

“You can’t use lameass questions in a lightning round.”

Karkat scowled. “Fine. Did you grow up here?”

“Here like this city or here like this house?”

“City.”

“Yup. Born and raised and full of hatred for the eternal conservative confines in which I suffer.”

“So you and your brother are both liberal?”

“Hey now, it’s my turn. No cheating. What kind of music do you listen to?”

“I don’t really listen to music. It’s not my thing.” Dave turned to Karkat and made the most scandalized look he could muster.

“You don’t  _ listen _ to  _ music _ ?”

“Yeah, what of it?”

“I don’t know if this friendship is gonna work, man.”

“Dave stop being a melodramatic fuck.”

Dave’s poker face broke. “I’m just teasing. I write music, that’s all.”

“Yeah well I bet it’s shit.”

“Your encouragement is truly heartwarming. It could melt the fucking ice caps.”

Karkat rolled his eyes. “Shut up and answer my question.”

“No, we’re both conservative assholes. We spend all day every day plotting the oppression of every minority group we can think of. Our scheme to exploit the inferior political groups is fuckin’ airtight.”

“Just give me a straight answer, for the love of god.”

“No can do, Karkat. As far as I’m concerned, nothing that happens in this household is straight.”

Karkat looked as though he were inches away from smacking him. “ _ Oh my god, Dave _ .”

“Yes, we’re both liberal fucking heathens. Seriously, what did you expect?”

“I expected you to answer my fucking question without being a sarcastic asshole.”

“Well shit man, you are in the wrong place if you didn’t want sarcasm, my dude.”

“Whatever, it’s your turn.”

Dave thought for a moment. “What do your parents do?”

Karkat stiffened. “Pass.”

Dave opened his mouth to protest -- everybody knows there’s no passing in a lightning round, after all -- but sensed that it was better left alone and backed off before he said anything stupid. “Okay then...what’s your favorite subject at school?”

“I’m not sure. I like programming, but I’m fucking terrible at it. I swear, if it were possible to blow up a computer with shitty coding, I would have done it by now.”

Dave stroked his chin thoughtfully. “The plot thickens…”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Almost immediately, regret washed over Karkat’s face. “On second thought, forget I asked. I don’t even want to know.” He sighed. “What do you want to study in college?”

“Archeology, for sure.”

“Really? Wouldn’t have guessed that one.”

Dave smirked, shrugging exaggeratedly. “What can I say, I’m a man of many hats.” Karkat didn’t respond. “Hmmm...if you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?”

“I’ve never really thought about it. Somewhere in Europe. I don’t know where I’d go specifically though.”

“Okay, okay. Intriguing.”

“I’m not a fucking lab specimen, Dave.” Karkat could provide energy for a small suburban neighborhood with the power of his irritated sighing alone. “How personal of questions are allowed?”

“Any question in the book.”

“Okay...when did you figure out you weren’t straight?”

“Well that went from zero to a hundred real fuckin’ quick. How’d we get from vacation to closet revelations?” Dave could see a retort forming in Karkat’s head and silenced it with a preemptive answer. “I was fourteen. What about you?”

“Pass.”

“Alright then…” Dave tried desperately to think of something to ask what wasn’t too probing. He came up empty. “I got nothin’. Anything else you wanted to ask?”

Karkat hesitated for a moment, but his lack of filter got the better of him. “Where are your parents? And why was your brother so weird earlier?”

“Uh…” Dave didn’t know how to even begin to answer those questions. He didn’t even know if it was possible. “Sorry man, I know I said anything, but those questions take like...level 5 friendship. You’re gonna have to level up your friendship attribute a fucking fuckton for that information.”

“Whatever.” Karkat rolled over so that he was facing away from Dave. “I’m tired.”

Dave stood up slowly.  _ Well that...could have gone worse, I guess. _ “Sounds good. I’ll let you be.” He stretched for a moment, then wandered towards his room.

“Dave?” Karkat’s voice interrupted him just as he was shutting his door.

“Yeah?”

“I was 16.”

“Oh. That’s cool.”  _ How the fuck am I supposed to respond to that? _ “Thanks for telling me.”  _ Smooth, Dave...real fuckin’ smooth... _

Karkat didn’t say anything. Dave’s cheeks were burning.  _ I’m such a moron. _ “Good night, Karkat.” Before Dave could embarrass himself any more, he shut the door to his room and collapsed onto his bed without a second thought.


	6. The Strider Code of Ethics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hnghhhh sorry this took forever, school started up again

“I cannot  _ believe _ that they’re still having school. This is  _ bullshit. _ ” Dave’s nearly-inaudible morning grumblings were getting funnier by the second. He shuffled in a daze through the house, hair ruffled in what looked to be an irreparably tangled mess, a touch of darkness under each eye, and a face so irritated it would put Gordon Ramsey to shame.

“Hey, no rest for the wicked. Move out of the way, man, I gotta get to the bathroom. My hair isn’t gonna gel itself.” Dirk half-danced his way around the immobile Dave and slipped into the bathroom, shutting the door as he did so.

Karkat, until this moment, had not believed that human beings could function this slowly. He had been up an hour ago, and had been more or less ready to leave for the past twenty minutes. Meanwhile, neither of the Strider boys seemed ready to walk in a straight line, let alone go to school. He sighed, letting himself fall back onto the couch with a soft  _ thud _ . The sudden movement drew Dave’s attention just enough for his reddened, sleep-deprived eyes to flick over to Karkat.

“Are you almost ready? We’re gonna be late if you don’t move a  _ little _ bit faster.”

Dave’s glare was trying to be deadly, but it was really more pathetic than anything. He scuffed his way past Karkat, glaring at him all the way into the kitchen. Before Karkat could even come up with the words to ask why Dave would possibly need to be in the kitchen before having gotten ready, he returned, an enormous glass of apple juice shaking slightly in his unsteady hand. His glare had become a scowl, and he seemed to be trying to conjure a lightning cloud to strike down vengeance upon the earth that had so rudely inconvenienced him.

Strider house discovery number two: it is, in fact, possible for someone to be fueled entirely by apple juice and rage.

It seemed that only a second had passed before Dave emerged once more from his room, fully dressed and sunglasses-ed.  _ Sunglassed? Sunglass-ed? Be-sunglasses-ed? _ He looked about ready to bash in the door to the bathroom when Dirk swung the door open and switched him spots. Somehow Dirk had managed to make himself look presentable in the two or three minutes he had spent in there. His hair was styled into his signature look rather than being a crumpled mess that hung around his ears like a shaved raccoon. The dark circles under his eyes were conveniently blocked by his obnoxiously angled glasses. It was a goddamned miracle.

Dave took even less time, probably because he didn’t have to pack two gallons of hair gel onto his head to make himself look decent. “Alright, I’m ready to go.” His speech had acquired its usual lazy irony once again. Karkat was dumbfounded at how quickly he and his brother had been able to put themselves together. It took Karkat -- and any reasonable person, really -- something like forty-five minutes to get ready. Nothing less than a half-hour, for sure. And yet here stood the two Strider boys, ready to go ten minutes after having dragged themselves from the greedy clutches of their beds.

“Alright, bro. Have fun at school or whatever. Play nice. Don’t let Karkat get lost on the way there.”

“Ex _ cuse _ me, but I  _ think _ I know where I’m going,” Karkat cut in irritatedly.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Want me to pick anything up on the way back for dinner?”

Dave contemplated. “Hmm...let’s do Jimmy John’s tonight.”

“Sounds good. See you around 6 then.”

“Later.” Dirk shut the front door behind him with one last thumbs up as a parting gift. A few moments later, an unpleasant grinding sound of a very old car starting echoed through the empty streets, followed by a horrendous screeching of tires and an unhealthy-sounding rev that only the shittiest of engines can truly make. A moment later a streak of something vaguely car shaped burst past the window and skidded haphazardly down the road, black smoke and continued screeching following behind it.

“What the fuck was that?!” Karkat asked, horrified.

“ _ That _ is why I didn’t let him drive you home last night.” Dave pulled up the window shade to be more dramatic. There was a slowly dissipating cloud of toxic blackness that hung just outside the front door.

“Uh...thanks. For that. Not letting me die in an old shitty car piloted by a maniac, I mean.”

“No problem, dude.”

There was a moment of awkwardness before Karkat cleared his throat. “We should head to school. I, for one, do not want to be late.”

“In a hurry for something?”

Karkat huffed indignantly. “No, I ju-”

“Or someone?” Dave smiled like a hyena as Karkat’s face went bright red.

“ _ Dave! _ ” Dave’s only response was to laugh and open the door.

“Come on, get moving. After all, we wouldn’t want to be  _ late _ , would we?”

“Shut up, Dave.” Karkat’s blush reached his ears as he pushed past Dave onto the street.

They walked in what Dave thought was a fairly comfortable silence for a bit. It might have been another story for Karkat, but Dave didn’t really seem to notice or care. After a bit, Dave spoke.

“So is there really somebody you’re interested in, or did I just embarrass you?”

“There’s not.” Something about Karkat’s tone indicated to Dave that this was not a matter to be pursued. He ignored it.

“You seem angry about it. Or bitter. Did I strike a nerve again?”

“No.”

Dave paused. “I do care, you know. I’m not just trying to small talk out of obligation.”

“Yeah, I know.” Karkat sighed. “I just...don’t like talking. To people. Ever.”

“That’s fair.” Dave was content to let things settle to quiet again, and was surprised when Karkat was the one to initiate conversation just a few seconds later.

“Do you...want to lightning round on the way? Or something?” It seemed he was attempting to extend the metaphorical olive branch.

Dave might not be the most tactful of people, but he knew that declining or teasing would make Karkat shut him out. Which was the opposite of what he wanted. “Sure. Who first?”

“I’ll ask first.”

Dave locked his fingers and stretched his arms forward dramatically. “Ready when you are.”

“Is there anybody that  _ you _ like?”

“Again with the stealing my question thing, jeez. You gotta be  _ creative _ man.” Karkat opened his mouth, but Dave talked over him. “I’m just teasing. There’s not really anybody, no. Just me and my loneliness.” He sniffed dramatically and looked off into the middle-distance, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead.

“Ughhh.” Karkat rolled his eyes. “Alright, your turn.”

“How do you manage to get up in the mornings?”

“What do you mean? My alarm goes off, and I get up. It’s...it’s not that complicated, Dave.”

“But like...the snooze button….it beckons….”

“You still have a snooze button? I disabled it ages ago. That way I know if I turn off the alarm and don’t get up, I won’t get to school at all, which will mean getting in trouble, which will mean them calling my parents, and that is just overall a situation that I would rather avoid.” He paused. “Also, I put my phone on the other side of the room so that when the alarm goes off, I have to get out of bed to turn it off. As in like. Get up and walk. Which means that I have to be fairly awake by the time I get to it.”

“That’s just brutal, man…”

Karkat shrugged. “It works. How do you get ready so quickly, anyway? It takes me at least a half hour to get ready. Usually more like forty minutes.”

“I mean, there’s not really much involved in getting ready. Throw on clothes, tame the hair, chug the apple juice, and you’re pretty much ready to go.”

“Yeah but...don’t you like, brush your teeth? Wash your face? Anything?”

“Eh. That stuff’s the cherry on the ice cream sundae of life. As in, unnecessary and unappealing.”

“First of all, gross. Second of all, what do you mean unnecessary and unappealing? The cherry is vital to the existence of the sundae. Without that, it’s just...ice cream with chocolate syrup.”

“And whipped cream.”

“You don’t but whipped cream on a sundae, stupid.”

Dave put his hand over his heart, clearly offended. “Are you _ kidding _ me? What the fuck kind of sundaes do you have that don’t have any fucking whipped cream? And you top it with that disgusting  _ thing _ that pretends to be a cherry? Do you know how that shit is made? It’s fucking nasty.”

“Whipped cream is gross.”

Dave stared at him, equal parts offended and horrified. “This is it...the last straw...I’m sorry, it was fun while it lasted, man, but...this is where we part ways.”

“Dave you overdramatic fuck, get off your sundae horse and move on. It’s not that big of a deal whether I eat it with whipped cream or not.”

“Whatever you say, Karkat...everyone’s entitled to their own wrong opinions.”

“High horse, Dave. High horse.”

Dave whipped out his phone indignantly. “I’m texting Dirk about it. He’ll agree with me.”

Dave’s fingers flew across the keyboard as Karkat stared in disbelief. “...really? This is  _ so important _ to you that you’re bringing in  _ outside sources _ ?” He facepalmed softly, despair setting in. “This has got to be the stupidest conversation I have ever had. This is it. The pinnacle of stupidity. Nothing will ever achieve the same heights of asinine absurdity that this conversation is reaching right now in this exact moment. We’ve hit critical idiocy.”

Dave tapped the send button decisively. “Sent. Now we’ll know who’s  _ really _ right.”

“Whatever. Next question.”

“It’s your turn.”

Karkat looked up at the sky, contemplating. “Are you a black coffee person or do you do cream and sugar?”

“Uh...well coffee is fucking nasty, but if I  _ had  _ to, I’d put a fuckton of  _ something _ in it to get it to taste halfway decent. Why, what about you?”

Karkat looked straight at him, lip curled back a little in disgust. “Black.”

“Bl-...black? Just...straight up black coffee? No nothing?”

“Yeah, because I’m not a fucking weakling.”

“Wow...that hurt. That hurt right here.” Dave put a hand over his heart.

“What, the empty void where your heart should be is aching a bit from remembering how it could have been if you were just right about something for once in your goddamn life?”

Dave whistled, clearly impressed by Karkat’s brutal comeback. “A little salty, aren’t we?” The sound of Dave’s phone buzzing interrupted them. “Alright, one ally comin’ up.”

“He  _ could _ be on my side, you know.”

Dave shook his head. “Dirk’d never betray me like that.” He opened the message thread, and the most horrified look crossed his face. His hand rose to cover his mouth, and Karkat wondered for a moment whether he was going to throw his phone. He turned slowly to Karkat, face confused and terrified. “He...he said ‘ice cream and chocolate syrup’. Just...just that. Nothing else.”

They both walked in silent contemplation for a moment. Dave looked like his world was crashing down around him. “I need to reconsider my relationship with my brother man...I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

“Well never fear, the walls of our eternal prison rise from the depths.” The school appeared slowly over the horizon as they cleared the top of a hill. “Ready to slog through our fundamentally meaningless day cramming our heads full of knowledge we will never use through a system that is inherently flawed and cares for neither us nor our education, instead using our progress and test scores as a way to leech more money from our slowly collapsing government?”

“Ready as ever.” Dave grimaced, then hitched his backpack up a little higher on his back and walked the final stretch across the parking lot to the entrance of the degenerate abyss they called a school.

 

**~~~ Hours in the Future (But Not Many) ~~~**

 

“Why is sundae even spelled with an ‘ae’ in it? What pretentious fuck decided that an ancient greek phoneme was required to talk about ice cream?”

Dave stopped eating for a moment to stare at Karkat. “You’re still stuck on sundaes? Dude, let it go, just accept that you’re wrong and move on.” They had found an island in the corner of the cafeteria that was relatively quiet and abandoned, and were chatting idly as they ate the disgusting mess of nutritionally questionable sludge that their school passed off as lunch.

“I’m serious. I looked it up during history, and it’s supposedly just a variation of the word Sunday. Like, the day of the week. Something about it being made with the disgusting leftover ice cream from the past week because why would you just throw out the repulsive ice cream that nobody ate.”

“Karkat–”

“It’s even a word that originated in the US. Nobody in this godforsaken country would just randomly decide “you know what? We should use an ‘ae’ at the end of this word because it’s clearly so normal to do that” like excuse me, but no. That only leaves the option that somebody, somewhere made the conscious decision to add this unnecessarily fancy phoneme into the name of this otherwise commonplace ich cream dish because he’s  _ really _ pretentious about his ice cream. The question is why.”

“Karkat I thi–”

“What cocksucking asshat decided that it was necessary to do that. Ice cream sundaes aren’t exactly fancy. Why was it necessary? It’s even more ridiculous than people who spell the word ‘ether’ with the stupid ‘ae’ symbol at the beginning.”

“Karkat.” Dave laid his hand on top of Karkat’s to gain his undivided attention. “Chill, my dude. You’re getting ketchup everywhere.”

Karkat surveyed the table, horrified by the unintentional aftermath of his rant. He had completely forgotten about the ketchup-covered french fry in his hand, which he had been waving around frantically to emphasize his point. Tiny splatters of ketchup smattered the table left and right. “Oh my god…” He dropped the french fry in order to facepalm resignedly, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. “I’m such a mess.”

“I mean yeah, you’re covered in ketchup.”

“That’s not what I  _ meant _ Dave. I just ranted about the etymology of the word sundae.”

“Yes. Yes you did.”

“When did my life get to this point?”

“I dunno man, ice cream is a pretty serious topic.”

“Shut the fuck up, you’re giving me a headache.”

“You sure it isn’t the ketchup giving you a headache?”

“ _ Ughhhh. _ ” Karkat dragged his hands slowly down his face, glaring at Dave, who couldn’t stop laughing.

An obnoxious electronic buzzer blasted over the loudspeakers. Dave groaned. “Alright, pack it up. I’ll get some napkins to clean up your mess.”

“You’re making me feel like a child, Dave.”

“You  _ are _ a child.” Dave grabbed a handful of napkins from the dispenser and started pecking at the specks of ketchup.

“Not helping.” Karkat stood, stretching. “I’ll put the trays away, I guess.”

“You’re a real savior, you know that?”

“Whatever.” Karkat walked off to join the massive group of people trying to drop off their trays in the bin.  _ God, he’s such an asshole, _ he thought slipping into and out of the crowd with little resistance. He returned to retrieve his backpack just as Dave finished his self-assigned task, tossing the used napkins into the trash can a few feet away.

“An excellent shot. You should go out for basketball.”

Dave started, staring confusedly at Karkat. “You’re back already?”

“Yeah?”

Dave’s gaze flicked to the enormous crowd, then back to Karkat. “What kind of magic bullshit…”

Karkat gestured at himself. “Dave, look at me. Do I look like the kind of person that’s gonna get stuck in a crowd?”

It took Dave a moment to process, then he brought his hand up over his mouth and started giggling hysterically.

“What.” Karkat’s voice was dead flat, almost daring Dave to say what it was that he found so funny.

Dave calmed down enough to just barely get some words out between his laughter. “You’re...oh my god. I never really thought about it, but you’re...you’re  _ so short. _ Holy shit I must have like at least eight inches on you.” His giggling resumed with a fury.

“Oh my  _ god _ , you’re such an  _ asshole _ .” Karkat picked up Dave’s backpack, throwing it at him none too lightly. Dave just barely caught it in the midst of his laughing fit, making a small noise of amused pain as it slammed into his stomach.

“ _ Rude _ , for one thing,” he managed between gasping breaths. Karkat ignored him, picking up his own backpack and slinging it irritatedly over his shoulder.

“ _ I’m _ going to class. See you after school, asshat.” Karkat didn’t wait for a response, instead disappearing miraculously into the crowd leaving the cafeteria.

Dave cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Shooooort,” one more time before stifling his laughter and heading towards the doors.

 

**~~~ A Few More Hours in the Future (But Still Not Many) ~~~**

 

“About fucking time, I’ve been waiting here for like fifteen minutes.” Karkat stood impatiently outside the school gate, staring irritably at his phone’s clock.

“You were waiting?” Dave stopped next to him, looking at him quizzically.

“Yeah? I said I would be at lunch, remember? I need to get the hell baby from you. It’s my turn.”

Dave adjusted his backpack strap thoughtfully. “Oh yeah. I guess it is.”

“So let’s get going? I don’t want to stay on this hell campus any longer than I have to.”

“Right.” They started off, retracing the route they had used that morning. “You know,” Dave said after a minute, “you don’t really  _ have _ to take the baby. Dirk’d be more than happy to take care of it, tbh. He loves robots, in case you hadn’t picked up on that.”

“Did you just...verbally say ‘tbh’?”

“Yes? Do you have a problem with that?”

“Nope,” said Karkat, his tone indicating rather indisputably that he did, in fact, have a problem with it. Dave forged on anyway.

“So yeah, you don’t have to worry about it. I got this handled.”

“That’s ridiculous, Dave. It’s a group project. Which means that we’re supposed to do it together. You know. As a group.”

Dave shrugged. “Whatever you say. I’ll help you carry it over, though. I felt kinda bad last time giving you that gigantic bag of baby shit to carry around by yourself.”

“I’ve got it, it’s fine.”

“No really, it’ll be a lot better. Then I’ll know where your house is, too, so you don’t always have to be the one carting that shit back and forth.”

“I said no. It’s fine, I can do it by myself.”

“What’s got you all riled up? Don’t want me to know where you live?”

“No.”

“Don’t want me to see your house?”

“No.”

“Don’t want me to meet your parents?”

“Leave it alone, Dave.”

_ Jackpot. _ “Is there something wrong with them?”

“No.”

“Are they assholes?”

Karkat didn’t respond, electing to pick up his pace instead. Dave had to half-jog to keep up.

After a moment’s contemplation, Dave conceded. “Tell you what. If you tell me what’s up, you can ask me any question, and I really do have to answer it. Even the questions that I said were off limits.”

Dave thought Karkat wasn’t going to say anything. They walked two and a half blocks in silence before Karkat finally said, “They’re not there. Okay? There’s nobody there. Are you happy? Do you feel  _ good _ about yourself now? Feel like you deserve a cookie?”

“What do you mean there’s nobody there? You live by yourself?” Dave tried not to let his alarm seep into his tone.

“I  _ mean _ they  _ aren’t there _ . Seems pretty self explanatory to me.” His voice was curt and edged, clearly waiting for Dave’s response.

“Well...where are they?”

“Who knows. Last I checked they were in Chicago.”

“Are you shitting me? When’s the last time your parents were home?”

“Parent. Singular. And brother. And they haven’t been home in months. They never stay more than a week when they are here, anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“That’s fucked up...I can’t even imagine living on my own...not having my brother...”

“Yeah, well, doesn’t it just feel so good to have a family? Because I wouldn’t know.” Karkat went deathly quiet after that, and Dave got the feeling that he was fighting tears. He didn’t say anything for a long time, letting Karkat get ahold of himself before he revived the conversation.

“You wanna stay with us?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Dave repeated himself slowly. “Do you want to stay with us?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I wouldn’t want to intrude on your perfect family dynamic, after all.”

Dave cleared his throat. “Let me rephrase. You’re going to stay with us.”

“Wait, I–” Karkat sputtered.

“The Strider code of ethics demands it, man. We’re not gonna let you live all by yourself like that. You’ll go crazy. Like that dude in The Shining.” Karkat looked away, an unreadable expression on his face. “Sorry,” Dave said, shrugging, “I don’t make the rules.”

Another four blocks passed before Karkat, who had been staring doggedly at his shoes, sniffed and muttered, “Whatever.”

Dave smiled, relieved. “Sweet. I’ll let my bro know, and we can set you up a real bed and stuff.”

Karkat didn’t say anything further for a long time, not even after Dave opened the door and ushered him into his new pseudo-home as the latch clicked softly shut behind them.


	7. Unboxing

It took almost two hours for Karkat to relax. He’d been stiff as a board when Dave brought him home, and Dave half wondered if he might just keel over from how uncomfortable he was, shattering all over the ground like a piece of ice dropped by a careless asshole as he just tries to put some ice cubes in his goddamn water. It had taken several cans of pepsi and some careless banter to coax him back into being at ease. After Dave gauged him to be calmed down enough to talk about the move again, he brought the subject up in as casual a way as he could manage.

“So Dirk’ll be home in just a few minutes, and I was thinking we could move at least some of your stuff here either right when he gets back or after dinner, or if you wanted we could wait until tomorrow? It’s up to you.”

Karkat shifted, slightly uncomfortable, hands wrapped nervously around his third can of pepsi. “You really don’t have to take me in. I was just fine living alone, I don’t need anybody to take care of me.”

Dave shook his head. “Out of the question. Unless you’d be uncomfortable staying with us, which I totally get, we’re a lot to handle.”

“It’s not that, it’s just that it seems dumb for me to stay here when I was doing fine before.”

“I dunno man, it’s not good for you to be all alone like that for long periods of time. Like I said, it’ll drive you insane.” Karkat started to say something, but Dave cut him off. “Tell you what, in addition to getting a no-holds-barred question during our next lightning round, you also get to leave whenever you want after a free trial period of like. Three days. How about that?”

Karkat brightened almost imperceptibly. “Free trial period? As in you’re gonna make me work for it later?”

“I mean, no, but the terminology fit the idea.” Karkat frowned again, seeming to droop into awkward discomfort again. “Why, do you want to work?”

“I don’t want to be a burden, that’s all. I can take care of myself just fine, honestly. I don’t need babysitters.”

The front door opened, and Dirk stepped inside, tossing his bag into the corner next to the door with a metallic thud as he made his way into the living room. “Why are we talking about babysitters?” he asked, yawning and stretching before collapsing on the couch.

“Oh, my day was great, thanks for asking. How about yours?” Dave asked sarcastically. He stood to join Dirk in the living room, motioning for Karkat to follow.

“Oh, shut it.” Dirk punched weakly in Dave’s general direction.

“Your intimidation factor is truly overwhelming. Really, I’m terrified.”

Dirk sighed dramatically, laying an arm across his forehead. “Dave, I’m tired and old. Let me rest.”

“Okay, I guess I won’t fill you in on what we were talking about then. Come on, Karkat.”

“Wait no, that’s not fair.” Dirk sat up a bit, groaning. “I’ve been cooped up in that sweaty garage all day, gimmea break.”

Dave shrugged magnanimously. “Alright man, but this is your last chance.”

Dirk saluted half-heartedly. “You can count on me, sir.” His hand dropped limply from his forehead to rest on the floor.

Dave cleared his throat. “So Karkat’s been living by himself for...how long have you been living by yourself?”

Karkat glared at him, but muttered quietly, “A couple months, or something.” He raised his voice a bit. “But it’s not a big deal, I’ve been taking care of myself since I was like nine years old, so I–”

“Wait woah woah woah, hold your horses there, bud.” Dirk was having none of Karkat’s reassurances. “What do you mean since you were nine?”

Dave could see Karkat move through the five stages of grief in less than three seconds as he realized that he’d talked himself into a corner. “I mean that my dad hasn’t been home for more than two weeks at a time since I was nine. He travels a lot for his...job.”

“Well that sounded sketchy and vague,” Dirk commented dryly. He turned to Dave. “So did you offer to let him stay here?”

“Well duh, who do you think I am?”

Dirk returned his gaze to Karkat. “So where do you live? I can run stuff back and forth with the car if you want. Also where do you wanna stay? Cuz like, the couch here in the living room’s fine, but you could stay in Dave’s room or something if you wanted.”

Karkat had been getting increasingly more pale as Dirk talked, until he blurted out, “There’s no way in hell I’m stealing Dave’s room, or your couch, or anything. I’m seriously fine, and I don’t want to be here if I’m not doing anything to deserve to stay here.”

Dirk stopped, puzzling over something. Dave looked at him inquisitively before he looked up and locked eyes with Dave.

“Shounen Maid?”

Dave started giggling uncontrollably. “Oh my god, it’s perfect,” he managed to get out before being completely consumed by a fit of laughter.

Karkat stared at the both of them in turns, absolutely terrified. “I don’t know what the fuck you two are laughing about, but I don’t want anything to do with it.”

Dirk recovered from his small bout of quiet snickering to add, “So what color should we make his uniform?”

Dave’s answer was incomprehensible in between his laughter.

“ _What in the earthly fuck are you talking about.”_ Karkat’s terror was thinly masked by clearly faked anger.

Dave being completely incapacitated, it was Dirk who responded. “Do you watch any anime, Karkat?”

Karkat actually physically backed away. “Oh _fuck_ no, whatever you’re planning, I want you to stop right the fuck now. Take your plan and put it squarely in fuck off land and ship it off to fuck off island and let it rot in fuck off prison for the rest of its fucking existence.”

“Relax, man, it’s okay. Although, you’re gonna have to change your attitude towards anime or you’re not gonna like Monday nights all that much.” Karkat opened his mouth to say something, then decided that there was nothing he could say to get himself out of this situation and closed it in defeat. Dirk coughed, looking pointedly in Dave’s direction. Dave still hadn’t fully recovered, and waved his hand weakly at Dirk, who sighed in response.

“Basically, we’re gonna reach an agreement where you say you’ll stay here, but in exchange you can like...clean stuff and shit, I guess. I mean, obviously you don’t have to do anything at all, but if it would make you feel better, then you can be like...permanent kitchen god or whatever.”

Karkat stared at the two warily. “So you’re saying I can be in charge of keeping the kitchen from looking like a warzone in exchange for staying here?”

“Pretty much. Seems kinda dumb to me to have you working, but whatever floats your boat.”

“Fine. I’ll stay. But _only_ because your kitchen is an actual fucking horror show and neither of you two are willing to give up your cool kid act for long enough to wash the fucking dishes.”

“Yesssssss,” Dave whispered softly, having finally remembered how to breathe. He reached across Karkat to high five Dirk, who was equally excited at the small victory. Karkat looked at them in disgust.

“You two are impossible, you know that? Impossible fucking assholes.”

“Why _thank_ you,” said Dirk, bowing dramatically.

Karkat groaned, then crossed his arms grumpily. “So are we going to get my stuff or not? Because I’m not making you assholes dinner unless I have ingredients to work with.”

Dirk had begun to stand up with the intention of running outside and starting the car, but looked at Karkat in mild confusion and sat once more. “You want to make dinner...again?”

“Well I’m not gonna let you guys eat takeout all the time, you’ll die. Do you know how bad that stuff is for you?”

“We don’t have takeout _all_ the time. We have ramen sometimes, too,” Dirk defended. Dave started laughing again as Karkat’s face flushed with horror.

“ _Oh my god_.” He threw his hands up in the air. “That’s it. I give up. You’re hopeless.” He walked away aggressively, then turned to face Dirk again. “You,” he said, pointing furiously, “where are your goddamn keys?” Dirk held them up. Karkat returned and snatched them out of Dirk’s hand.

“Hey!” Dirk protested, forcing himself up with only a little bit of disgruntlement, and chased after Karkat as he marched out the door. “You can’t drive my car, it’ll explode probably.” Dave followed after the two of them, content to watch them bicker.

“Well then you’d _better_ get this piece of shit car up and running in the next thirty seconds or I’m going to walk all the way there and back with all of my goddamn stuff balanced precariously in my arms like the girl in Jungle Book with the fucking jar of water on her head.” He threw the keys at Dirk, hitting him squarely in the chest. When Dirk hesitated to stare at the spot where the keys had no doubt bruised him from the impact, Karkat reiterated: “ _Now_.”

Dave watched in mild amusement as his brother scrambled to shove the keys in the ignition, cursing at the car in an attempt to intimidate it into starting. It didn’t work very well. His eyes shifted to watch Karkat impatiently tapping his foot and staring daggers at Dirk. _There’s no way he should be that scary, but somehow he manages to pull it off and yet not come off like a total dick._ Once the car had begrudgingly sputtered to life, Karkat threw the passenger door open and sat decisively in the front seat. His gaze snapped to Dave. “Get in shitstain, I have a lot of stuff to move.” Dave shrugged nonchalantly and got in, trying to hide the fact that the fear of God had taken hold of him when Karkat looked at him. _God...how does he do that?_

“Alright kiddos, hold onto something,” Dirk said, his voice shaking slightly as he tried to brush off his slight terror of the tiny Anger Factory™ sitting next to him. Karkat never once flinched as Dirk ripped backwards and slid into a U turn that would make Vin Diesel proud, then shot off at the speed of sound, haphazardly following Karkat’s shouted directions as Dave prayed silently that no cops would cross their path.

 

**~~~ Are You Tired Of Moderately-Lengthed Time Skips Yet? ~~~**

 

After lots of yelling, tripping over boxes, shuttling back and forth, and one nearly disastrous incident of calamitous box-toppling, they actually managed to move all of the things Karkat needed and wanted into their house. It was a bit hectic after that, since Karkat declared that his new housemates were going to move his things to Dave’s room while he made them dinner. It hadn’t been previously officially determined where Karkat would stay, so Dave was pleased that he had made a favorable enough impression on his new friend that he would be willing to share a room. There was also a slight gut-clenching feeling that Dave couldn’t quite put his finger on, but that seemed more or less to be nerves mixed with a desperate desire to maintain his good standing with Karkat. Why he felt nervous about it all was beyond him, but he chalked it up to having a new member of the household, and someone that he had only formally known for about four days.

Dirk continued to be half-terrified of Karkat’s kitchen witchcraft, but refused Karkat’s demands that they sit at the table and eat together, saying that he had too much work to do. He took his food, grabbed a mountain dew and disappeared. Karkat shuddered. “I can’t _believe_ he would drink something so _disgusting_.”

“I’ve tried to get him to mend his ways, but he just won’t listen,” Dave agreed somberly.

“Oh shut up, Dave, you survive off of that apple bullshit.”

“Hey, don’t push your luck. I’ll make you sleep on the couch, man, just fuckin watch me.”

Karkat waved dismissively. “Yeah, whatever.” He lapsed into silence for a moment, before saying, “Well I guess since your brother was so adamant about rejecting my efforts to sit and eat, there’s no reason for us to eat out here.”

“Sweet.” Dave opened the fridge to retrieve the afore-scoffed apple juice, which elicited a resigned groan from Karkat, then balanced his plate precariously atop the lid of the bottle and made his way to his room. He shouldered open the door, then flicked on the lights with his free hand and sat on the bed. He looked up at Karkat, who had stopped awkwardly in the doorway.

“Come on, nothing in here’s deadly. Probably.” Karkat seemed to be surveying the room. “I know there isn’t much space, but it should be alright,” Dave added. Dave and Dirk had managed to drag the trundle bed’s rusted ass out from under Dave’s bed and get some clean sheets on it, but in exchange there was little to no room to move.

“We can move the trundle bed back under mine for now, if you want,” Dave offered. Karkat’s snapped out of whatever dream state he’d been in, shaking his head slightly as he did so.

“No, that’s fine,” he said, joining Dave in sitting on the bed. It would have taken a grade-A idiot not to notice that Karkat was positively radiating discomfort. Dave cleared his throat.

“You doing alright?”

“Yeah.” Dave thought Karkat was going to leave it at that, but surprisingly enough, he continued. “It’s weird being in a house with people.”

“What kind of weird? Good weird or bad weird?”

Karkat frowned. “Just...weird.”

Dave nodded wisely. “True neutral weird, the rarest of its kind.”

Karkat punched him. “Fucking moron…” he muttered.

Dave rubbed his arm. _That one kind of hurt...huh._ He was about to retort when he noticed that Karkat had turned away, disengaging completely from the conversation in favor of returning to his food. Or rather, returning to pushing bits of food around on the plate distractedly.

“Something on your mind?” Dave said after a few minutes had passed. Karkat jumped, made eye contact, then turned away again.

“It’s...never mind.”

“Oh come on, don’t give me this ‘oh look at me, I’m so _mysterious_ ’ bullshit. Out with it.”

Karkat’s face darkened with what would have been rage if he hadn’t been in such a strange mood. “Your deal. It’s your turn.”

Dave’s brow furrowed. “My deal?”

“I stay here and you let me ask any question.”

Dave swallowed a bite of food. “Sure, okay. Fire away.”

Karkat stopped for a second, apparently deciding how to word his question. “I kind of asked it before. The off limits question.” Dave’s fork stopped midair, his eyes unfocusing slightly. Karkat forged on anyway. “Why do you guys live alone? Where is your family?”

“Hey, I said only one question.” Dave’s voice was extremely empty, as unfocused as his vision. Its tone scared Karkat a lot more than he would have liked to admit.

“You know what, never mind. It’s fine.”

“No, you’re right. I promised to answer a question, I gotta answer the fuckin question.” With tremendous effort, Dave’s consciousness solidified itself a bit. He grabbed his apple juice, chugged the entire thing, then set his food aside. “I’ll try to keep it short and sweet because it’s really fucked up, and I don’t really like going into detail about it.”

Karkat nodded, unable to think of any words that wouldn’t ruin the moment. Dave cleared his throat.

“We live alone because of a lot of fucked up family bullshit, basically. Our parents died when we were younger, and I don’t really remember them a whole lot. Dirk was older when they died, but he doesn’t really talk about them. He...doesn’t really like talking about any of this, so you gotta be quieter than a fucking crypt about this, okay?” Karkat nodded again.

“So wait, you live alone because your parents died? But you said that happened when you were young, there’s no way you’ve been living alone that whole time.” Dave tensed up again.

“We didn’t. We were staying with our...our half brother.” It was taking Dave a lot more effort than he’d expected to force the words out of his mouth. “He’s a lot older than us since our mom had him in high school.” Dave paused again. “We didn’t want to live with him, but technically I guess he’s our closest next-of-kin or whatever. We didn’t even know he existed until we were told we’d be living with him. It was really fucked up actually, who the fuck puts a fucking 7 year old and a 10 year old in a house with somebody they’ve never met before in their fucking life. He’s practically off the record, who thought that was a fucking good idea. And he wasn’t even that old, he had no idea what he was doing, but I guess fuck giving kids to qualified family members. The child support whoever the fucks probably just wanted to get our case over with so they could go back to whatever more important stuff they were doing before.

“And anyway, he was a fucking piece of absolute shit, but they never came to check up on us which I think they’re supposed to do but apparently we were not worth their fucking time to make sure we were safe and adjusting to our new household well or whatever. Like oh, I found some family member that they’ve never heard of that lives with his dad who they’ve also never met, sounds like a great person to put in charge, let’s just not do any kind of fucking background check like we’re fucking supposed to because oh his dad has a lot of money so we’ll just shut up about it and keep minding our own fucking business because as long as we get paid who the fuck cares about these tiny fucing kids?”

“Dave, it’s oka–”

“And you know, we _weren’t_ fucking safe and we _weren’t_ fucking adjusting. We _weren’t_ fucking okay. We were so fucking not okay we have fucking _scars_ . We can’t go a goddamn day without seeing them and remembering everything that happened to us. Do you know why I wear long shirts and pants all the fucking time? Because I’m tired of answering questions. I’m fucking _tired_ of people getting all up in my business because hey, that scar looks bad, are you okay? _No, I’m not fucking okay_. I haven’t been okay since I was fucking 7 years old. Do you know what it does to you to live in terror because you have to watch your fucking guardian beat your older brother? And the worst part? Dirk took the beatings so I wouldn't have to. He has so many more fucking scars than me, and it hurts every fucking day thinking about it.”

Dave was only half aware of the fact that the words that had been so hard to say before were now pouring out so fast he was almost tripping over them. “You know, when Dirk finally turned 18 and got to move out, I was so fucking relieved because I knew that he wouldn’t have to deal with that anymore. He wouldn’t have to protect me anymore, he could go and live his own fucking life. And he did. He’d been saving up money for a while, lying to Bro so that he wouldn’t take all of Dirk’s money. He had been planning getting this apartment for months, maybe even years. I don’t even know how he fucking managed it, fuck if I know how getting an apartment works, but he fucking did it and I was so happy for him that he’d managed to get out.

“It hadn’t fully occurred to me that that meant that _I’d_ have to take the beatings until the first time he drew blood. And you know what? He made me bleed so many times that I can’t even _look_ at fucking blood. If I think about it for too long, it makes me fucking _sick_ . I’ve gotten better recently, I can watch like movies and shit, but it’s still really fucking hard and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fully fucking recover. And even though it made me fucking sick and sometimes I didn’t think I’d be able to move ever again, I let it happen. I fucking let it happen because I’m a coward, because I knew that trying to stop him would make it worse than it already was, if that was even fucking possible. I knew that if I ever brought it up, Bro would just tell me that I was making him out to be worse than he was, that I was the irrational one in the situation. And I fucking believed him. I let it happen because I thought he was right, that I deserved it and that I shouldn’t bother trying to stop him because I was the crazy one, I was the one who was blowing things out of proportion, it was me that was in the wrong. Part of me _still_ fucking believes that, do you know how fucked up that is? Sometimes I wonder if it even happened or if I just made it up, but isn’t it just _great_ that I have the scars to conveniently prove to me every time that yup, it sure did fucking happen.”

“Da–”

Dave was crying now, but he hardly noticed. “If Dirk hadn’t gotten me out of there I don’t know what I would have fucking done. I thought I was going to fucking die because I wasn’t brave like Dirk, I couldn’t take it the same way Dirk could. But he came anyway, and he got hurt again because of it and it was _my fucking fault_ . If I’d just...if I’d just had better aim, if I’d thrown something heavier, if I’d done anything besides the useless bullshit that I did. But I didn’t know what else to do, I was so fucking scared that he was gonna kill Dirk, he had a fucking _knife_ and Dirk was trapped and I just grabbed the nearest thing and threw it to try and give Dirk a chance to get out but that went fucking terribly and then Dirk was...Dirk was gone, he was out cold and there was blood everywhere and I really did think he was dead, I thought I’d fucked up so badly that he wasn’t gonna come back. Bro was too busy beating the shit out of Dirk while he was down, who does that? Who the fuck beats somebody when he can’t even do anything to defend himself? And I...I didn’t know what to do, I was so scared, I panicked and ran and didn’t look back, and I hid in the first room I found, the bathroom, I crawled into the fucking thing under the sink and I was so scared, I was so scared, I knew if I made any noise he would find me so I clamped one hand over my mouth and tried not to cry and called the police but I couldn’t even talk to them I had to call them and let them talk to nobody and turn the volume way down and muffle it against my shirt and hope that Bro wouldn’t hear it, that Bro was still distracted, that Bro wouldn’t find me because I was so scared, I was scared that he’d kill me if he found me. I was scared...I was…”

Dave lost his will to talk about it in favor of drawing his knees against his chest and hiding his face. His tears were streaming faster than ever, and he was trembling, repeating over and over in a barely audible voice, “I was so scared, I was so scared, I was so scared.”

And Karkat had absolutely no idea what to do about it.

He was fairly sure that there wasn’t really anything he could say that would help, but there was no way in hell he was just gonna let Dave sit there in tears and not try to do something about it.

After a moment of contemplation, he shifted closer to Dave tentatively reached one arm around Dave’s shoulders, pulling him into an awkward hug. Dave responded by trembling harder, which almost made Karkat pull back, but the second Dave felt Karkat moving away, he grabbed Karkat’s shirt, silently pleading with him to stay. Not knowing what else to do, Karkat sat there, letting Dave cry until he ran out of energy and fell soundly asleep against Karkat’s shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER I had to read through a lot of Texas legal documents and also pass midterms


	8. Cracked

It was a miracle that Karkat had been able to set the alarm on his phone without waking up Dave before crashing. To be fair, Dave was a bit cried out and probably wouldn’t have woken up unless the world was ending, but Karkat was afraid of moving any more than necessary in case Dave’s head fell off of his shoulder and he rolled ass backwards onto the floor.

When the obnoxious default beeping that Karkat had been too tired to change started up that morning, he woke to discover that the both of them had collapsed onto their backs and were awkwardly sprawled across the bed in a messy tangle. As could be expected, Dave did nothing but groan in response to the sound, so Karkat had to carefully extract himself from the bed before squinting around at the floor in an attempt to locate and turn off his phone.

Once he had finally succeeded, he returned to the bed and attempted to rouse the comatose Dave.

“Hey. Get up. I’m gonna make sure you actually get ready today, not just throw on a shirt and chug an apple juice or whatever.”

Dave groaned again and felt around for something. Finally, he muttered sleepily, “The fuck is the blanket?”

“We didn’t have time, you passed out after…” Karkat stopped, not sure how to finish that sentence.

Dave seemed to have forgotten what happened until that exact moment. In an instant, he was completely awake and sitting up. “Oh. Right.” Without another word, he stood up and headed for the bathroom. Karkat heard the door shut, then the sounds of a shower being turned on.

_ Well that was…curt. _ Karkat tried not to let it get to him as he made his way to the kitchen to start making breakfast. He briefly considered attempting to wake up Dirk, but decided that wasn’t something he wanted to deal with. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Dave’s older brother kind of scared him. Not the scared-for-your-life kind of fear, but the fear that comes with knowing someone who’s older and more competent than you will ever be and being completely awestruck by that revelation.

Karkat wasn’t really sure what to make for breakfast, but he’d given himself lots of time to do it and decided eggs and bacon was the way to go. How can you go wrong with eggs and bacon?

As he got the bacon cooking, he heard a door down the hall open as Dirk blearily poked his head out of his room and stared at Karkat. “Karkat, what are you doing...it’s early...go to sleep.”

“Actually, it’s only about an hour and a half before we have to leave for school, so–”

“That’s so  _ early _ ,” Dirk protested, grimacing as his eyes adjusted to the light.

“Yeah well, unlike  _ some _ people, I like to be able to eat and shower before I leave the house.”

Dirk was about to respond, but suddenly paused. A look of confusion crossed his face. “Are you...are you making bacon?”

“I am, in fact. And eggs. Because I like to eat an  _ actual meal _ for breakfast rather than chug a Mountain Dew and call it good.”

“Did you...put on enough for everyone?”

“Of course I did, what kind of asshole would only make food for himself?” Dirk seemed ecstatic. Or at least, as ecstatic as somebody who’s about to fall over from sleep deprivation can seem. Karkat cut him off before he could say any thanks. “But! There’s a catch. Only showered and hygiene-d Striders get my food. Otherwise you have to fend for yourself.”

The light faded from Dirk’s face as Karkat spoke. “Are you  _ serious _ ?”

“Yes! How is that even up for debate? Do you revel in living in a cloud of filth so much that it would kill you to brush your teeth once in a fucking while?”

“Geez, fine, you got me.” Dirk sighed as he turned around and walked to the bathroom.

“I’d wait a second, I think Dave’s in there right now.” Dirk stopped, then turned to look at Karkat. There was something halfway between concern and anger on his face that gave Karkat a sudden sense of utter dread.

“Oh. Okay.” Without another word, he disappeared into his room. The door shut with a decisive click.

“Why is everybody acting so fucking weird?” Karkat muttered to himself. He tried his best not to dwell on it as he poked at the bacon. It didn’t work. By the time he heard the bathroom door open a few minutes later, he had worked himself up into a nervous wreck. He turned to see Dave sort of shuffle in a daze through the hall and back into his bedroom. Karkat had meant to call out something to him, tell him that breakfast was almost ready, but something about the way he was moving frightened Karkat even more than he already was. He decided instead to watch in distress as Dave’s door clicked softly shut behind him.

Another few minutes, and it was time to take the bacon off and start the eggs. Karkat thanked every available god that the Striders had allowed him to organize things as he deftly maneuvered through the kitchen to find a serving plate, a bowl to crack the eggs into, a whisk, and his favorite set of spices: basil and oregano.

“Hey assholes, breakfast is almost done! Get your asses out here before it gets cold,” Karkat yelled down the hall. He cracked seven eggs into the bowl (geez, that was a lot), then whisked, seasoned, and poured. There was a loud, satisfying crackle as the eggs hit the still-hot bacon grease.

“What the fuck was that?!” Dirk asked, coming into the kitchen with a start.

“Uh...the sound of eggs cooking? Have you ever made a scrambled egg in your entire fucking life?”

“Yeah, and they don’t sound like a war zone.”

“Well yeah, I had the heat turned up a little too high, so fucking sue me,” Karkat said, crossing his arms defensively and keeping an eye on the eggs to see when they had cooked enough for him to start scrambling.

“Are you...are you cooking them in the bacon grease?” Dirk had come closer to inspect the pan in amazed wonder.

“Yeah? I mean, you can’t just pour bacon grease down the sink drain, you’ll clog it. And it’s way better flavoured than any oil you could ever use, anyway.”

“That’s...ingenious,” Dirk said slowly, amazed.

Karkat shrugged. “I saw it on TV, I don’t get all the credit.” He paused a moment to grab a spatula. “You’d better move, I have to make sure they don’t burn, and you have to make sure you don’t lose an eye to the grease.” Dirk moved easily, looking both awed and hungry. Karkat sighed and said, “The bacon’s on that plate over there if you want to serve yourself.”

Karkat hadn’t even needed to say anything. Dirk’s nose had already found and followed the scent to the table and was now reaching for a piece. “I said  _ serve _ yourself, not grab one off the plate and eat it like a fucking animal. God, I have to do  _ everything _ in this house.” Karkat reached up to where the plates were and leaned across the room to hand it to Dirk, the spatula never leaving the pan.

“You’re having me eat breakfast on like an actual real plate?”

“Yes, Dirk, we are eating food on actual real plates because actual real people do things with actual real stuff instead of burning through inordinate amounts of plastic silverware and paper plates.”

Dirk scowled. “There is nothing wrong with paper plates and plastic forks, they work perfectly fine and get the job done.”

“Yeah, yeah, but it’s the  _ principle _ of it all,” Karkat said. “Hey speaking of real people plates, can you grab me two more and bring them over here? The eggs are done and I didn’t get anything to put them on because I’m a dumbass.”

“I got you, fam,” Dirk says, sliding three plates across the counter in a glorious single file. Karkat loaded them with what he could best eyeball as thirds, then turned off the stovetop and carried things around to the dining table.

“Do you take anything with your eggs?” Karkat asked.

“What?”

“Like, ketchup or syrup or anything?”

“...I’ll just go ahead and repeat myself, what?”

Karkat was almost appalled before he remembered nothing good happens in this fucking house. “Okay, Dirk, I’m about to teach you some real shit about how to eat fucking eggs.” He ran to the fridge again, half considered throwing the ketchup at Dirk, then decided against it and walked it back with his legs like a bipedal mammal with impulse control and a brain. “This shit right here makes eggs taste like  _ heaven _ .” Dirk’s nod was tempered with severe skepticism. Karkat ignored it and poured out a little puddle onto each of the three plates.

“Now, you only want to get a tiny bit of ketchup on a bite of eggs. Like, if you get too much then it just tastes like ketchup and horse shit, which is not a good time in the early hours of the morning.” Dirk was kind of just staring at him, waiting for Karkat to admit that he was kidding. In response, Karkat went ahead and dug in, ketchup and all. “I’m not fucking lying about this, Dirk, this is the shit.”

Dirk grimaced at it, but then shrugged. “You’ve been right about like literally everything else you’ve said since you came here, might as well give it a go.” He reached for the ketchup, dipped, and ate. Karkat was surprised at how on the edge of his seat he was.  _ Why do I care so much about being validated on a front that I know I’m fucking right on? _

“Hot diggity shit, why did no one ever tell me about this before.” Dirk’s eyes were wide with approval.

“I told you I wasn’t kidding,” Karkat said, the smugness in his smile almost physically palpable.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, save your breath,” Dirk said. It kind of ruined his bitter facade that he was scarfing down the food like there was no tomorrow, but Karkat figured he’d just let him believe it was working.

The sound of a door opening down the hall stopped both of them. They both looked down the hall, Karkat ever more distressed as Dirk’s concern filled the room.

Dave looked...bad. His hair wasn’t brushed, his glasses were slightly crooked, and he seemed overall sapped. Not the kind of look someone fresh out of the shower should have. Karkat cleared his throat. “H–Hey, Dave. I made, uh...I made breakfast.” Dave nodded, totally silent, and sat down. He started wordlessly eating his breakfast without making eye contact with either of them. Well, eating might not have been the right word. More of him poking the eggs with his fork listlessly and less of him actually chewing and swallowing.

Dirk put a hand on Dave’s shoulder. Karkat could see Dave’s muscles tense through his shirt, but he still didn’t say anything. “You gonna be alright?” Dirk asked in a near-whisper. Dave nodded almost imperceptibly. Dirk prodded, “You don’t have to go to school today, it’s okay. You can afford to take a sick day, you haven’t missed a day of school in a while.” Dave shook his head, a little more obviously this time. Karkat felt like he was interrupting an intense private moment, but he wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to do except stand there and hope the atmosphere would clear soon.

Dirk stood, a slight frown on his face. “If you say so. Will you be alright walking?” Dave nodded. “Alright…” Dirk turned to Karkat. “Make sure he eats, okay?”

Karkat tried to smile, but the weight of the situation snuffed it out prematurely. “Will do.”

Dirk clapped him on the back as he passed. “I’m off to work on my project again. You guys better hit the road soonish.” He left before anyone could really answer him, wandering back towards his room and shutting the door.

Karkat looked at Dave. He had put the fork down and was kind of just staring at the plate now. “Hey...you better eat some of that, okay?” Dave didn’t say anything. “...just a couple bites?” Dave seemed to be moving through molasses, but he managed to pick up his fork and get in one bite of eggs before setting it back down. Karkat checked the time. Five minutes until they had to get going.  _ What do I do? _ “Um...so I’m gonna go grab our stuff. Try to eat as much of that as you can. Sound good?” Dave’s back muscles tensed in a way that almost seemed like he had tried to shrug but had given up halfway through.  _ I guess that’ll have to do… _

Karkat jogged to Dave’s room and picked up both of their backpacks.  _ This must have something to do with last night...god, why did I even ask about it? I’m so stupid. This is all my fault. _ He returned to the kitchen and did his best to paste a smile on his face.

“Ready to go?”

Dave stood up slowly and grabbed his backpack out of Karkat’s hands in the most lackluster, distracted way possible. Karkat looked him over again as he cleared the dishes and scraped Dave’s nearly untouched meal into the trash. His shades weren’t lopsided anymore, so that was some improvement, and he must have flattened out his hair a bit because it didn’t look quite so poofy now. Karkat led the way to the front door. “Shall we?” Dave made the smallest possible hum of affirmation, almost too quiet to hear.  _ Well at least he’s making sound now...that’s a good sign. I think. _

The walk to school was long, silent, and awkward. Karkat tried to start conversations occasionally, and every time Dave either didn’t answer or only grunted vaguely. His head was bent downward in a way that made Karkat suspect that he wasn’t even looking where he was going. Eventually, Karkat just kind of gave up and let the silence rest uncomfortable between them.

_ I should be doing something...but what should I be doing? Nothing I’ve done has worked, and I can’t exactly ask him what’s wrong because I  _ know _ what’s wrong, and it’s me. It’s probably not doing him any favours that I’m right here walking next to him. God, I feel so helpless. _

_ WHACK. _

Karkat looked up, startled. Dave had accidentally run into a bench on the edge of the sidewalk. He was looking down at his shin in a daze, and his glasses had skittered away a few feet in front of him. Karkat bent down to get them. There was a big crack running through the right lens. He winced.  _ Ah geez… _

He stood back up, turning to return Dave’s glasses. “Here...sorry about the crack. It must have happened when they fell.” He watched Dave’s hands as he took the sunglasses.  _ Is he...shaking? _ Karkat’s gaze rose to meet Dave’s, and his heart dropped into his stomach. Dave’s distant, vague composure had broken, and he was crying again. Heavy, uncontrolled tears streaked silently down his cheeks as he tried desperately not to make a sound. He didn’t return Karkat’s stare, just slipped the glasses on overtop his tears like nothing was wrong and kept walking.

Karkat followed behind, worry practically seeping out of his pores. He had made what should have been an obvious connection, and it frightened him that he had been so stupid as to miss it for such a long time.

_ With his glasses on like that, you can hardly tell anything is wrong. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M ALIVE I'm sorry this chapter took like...ten years, I had super intense writers block, then super intense school, then super intense depression, and it was just a mess all around. I'm back now though! And hopefully this is gonna get rolling again (cross your fingers). So yeah this chapter was really hard to write because I'm terrible at interludes, but I know where it's going after this and I think it'll roll much more smoothly from here. Sorry if this chapter ended up kinda lackluster :/ I'm just getting back into the swing of things (also I wrote this chapter over the course of like 4 months so I kept gaining and losing motivation and writing it like one paragraph at a time *shrug*).


End file.
